Wings of Love
by Kasage Starrunner
Summary: This is a yaoi fic following the escapades of Quatre after his death, and Trowa dealing with this death. It contains Gundam WIng characters and original characters © me. However, the focus is a PG-rated relationship between Quatre and Trowa, after deat
1. Chapter 1

**Wings of Love**

Part 1****

_Kasage Starrunner****_   
  


He hadn't remembered dying at first, and yet here he was on the outside looking in. He could see his dead self lying there on the cold ground, its life blood pooling crimson from the bullet wound in his chest. But the edges seemed to be fraying and the whole picture was graying and fading away, like over exposed film. As his life fled him he knew there was no return for his soul. No return from this cobwebby world in which all was dank, dark, and uncertain.   
  


He felt numb. There was no feeling, no emotion. Vaguely, he wondered if this was how Heero Yuy felt, and then wondered who Heero Yuy was. He couldn't remember. The waters of Lethe had already sapped plain memories from his beaten soul.   
  


It was like being severed from his umbilical cord. He was forever split from his life and body as he once was from his mother and his heart quailed. It wanted to flee, to run back to where his life was, but there was no escape from this cell. He felt stung, abandoned. Where was God? Why had He torn him away from that which he loved so dearly. He could care less about life itself, had it not been for one thing. Love. He longed for it. Clung to it. It was the only thing he could remember for sure.   
  


But how had he got here? The doleful spirit had already forgotten that too and it frightened him. Desperately he tried to brush his spirit hands through the fog that surrounded him, but everytime one patch was pushed away another took its place. He screamed in anguish, trying to think back- back to his life, his koi, and what had caused his unbecoming death. He didn't want to forget. If he forgot all was lost. If he forgot he was really dead and he had made a promise. Yes, he had made a promise that day, but he couldn't remember.   
  


He fought, he scratched, he wailed, but finally the spirit lost its strength and fell in a pathetic heap, curled up in a fetal position sobbing what was left of his heart onto the bleak ground. He let his consciousness fade, and there out of the corner of his turquoise eyes he could almost see the flashes of color and brightness that had made up his short life. Slowly it wove itself together, the bright colored pieces of the patchwork quilt that was the end of his life. And crystal tears streamed down his radiant face.   
  


**February 14, AC 197 :: 03:38**   
  


Aqua eyes gazed lovingly at the still sleeping figure of his beloved koi. The young man had crept into the room somewhere past 00:00 hours, sleepless and lovelorn. Leaning his pale blond head on the hard mattress he watched the soft rising and falling of his beloved's chest. It was like a dream that would end to soon, a dream that would end when the sleeping youth opened his emerald eyes slightly before sunrise. It was 03:39, though, so the blonde had time yet.   
  


His koi was so peaceful as he slept. He looked so untroubled when his eyes were closed. Sharp brown bangs had been softened by his restless sleep and were strewn carelessly about his flattened pillow, framing his sharp angled face so becomingly. If only those green eyes were as gentle when they were awake as they were in the Latin man's sleep. Yet, somehow, awake or closed, those eyes formed a barrier, an iron curtain in which no form of emotion would ever escape. It were as though feeling had been beaten tirelessly out of the man. His green eyes were a void that needed to be filled-filled with love and kindness.   
  


That was something that the blonde had plenty to offer. The youth did love him, though it seemed so many times that the Latin man did not reciprocate his affections. However, the Arabic angel was a forgiving soul and ignored the blights that the Lion gave-when his koi needed a kind and quiet soul to confide to, he was there. It was the way things were, when you loved Trowa Barton, and Quatre Raberba Winner wouldn't trade it for all the worlds and Heaven and Hell. His love was unselfish and pure-the kind that most souls only dreamed of. Through every trial and tribulation, the Arab was there holding out his gentle hands to support the Spanish lion- And the lion was always there to defend when the gentle desert angel had not the courage or bravado to defend himself.   
  


Silently, Quatre stood up from his gazing, his night robe billowing off his shoulders in the slight draft, revealing the soft alabaster skin of his chest. He checked the clock 04:01. A small smile came to his face. Soon his koi would awaken to Valentine's day, the day of lovers'. The smile became wider as he played with his imagination. He wanted to make this the greatest, most beautiful day of Trowa's life, one he could remember forever. If all of the other days were dismal, at least he could have this one spot of joy and life.   
  


As his bare feet padded down the adjacent hallway, the blond pulled his robe back close around him, adjusting the belt to keep himself warmer. He thought to stop by his room and slip on one of his well-worn tunics or other articles of clothing before heading onward to the kitchen. It was chilly this morning and Quatre's desert blood didn't allow him to go about bare skinned for long. The kitchen would be warmer, but he could already feel the goosebumps prickling up and down his arms.   
  


He checked himself in the mirror. It had recently become an unconscious gesture, although he's never admit it. He tucked a few loose strands of platinum hair back, admiring their coquettish disarray and then scolding himself for acting like a schoolgirl. He could at least act like a school boy. Quatre thought about it for a moment and laughed at the blank stare that a young Trowa would have given him for putting a frog down the back of his shirt. It was amusing.   
  


With soft skinned hands he pulled out his Arabic robes and lifted them to his nose, reveling in the nostalgia of the smell of the desert winds. Caught in the wings of his imagination he put on what was perhaps the only link to his near forgotten childhood and family he had left behind on L4 ... But he had left them for the love of Trowa, and love was like water to the soul. Without the wings and winds of love a soul could never fly, and would be doomed to remain grounded for and eternity, choked off by an empty and lonely existence.   
  


But he digressed. Nostalgia fading, the pale Adonis climbed out of his lofty chariot back into the realm of Reality. -Breakfast.   
  


Quatre exited into the hall again, turning now to the small but tidy kitchen. On impulse, he put on hot water for his morning tea, hands delicately adjusting the finicky knobs on the ancient, blue-fire, gas burner so that it wouldn't destroy the claustrophobic room. Opening the inlaid wooden tea box that Trowa had given him, he breathed deeply of the leafy smell, letting it permeate his senses and calm his quickly beating heart. The Arab gently took down two small tea cups and started the process of fixing breakfast, which wouldn't take long if he had Trowa's tastes correct.   
  


Meanwhile, the sleeping Latin was waking from his night of dreamful sleep. Emerald eyes cracked open in the dark, revealing a pensive look casued by disturbing fragments of nightmares and ill-begotten fantasy. He couldn't piece it all together, but there was something wrong with this day. The dreams flitted about his head like shadows and the lithe young man soon gave up on his apprehensive feeling. Dreams seldom amounted to much, so there was no sense in him worrying about it.   
  


Lifting his built frame from the bed, Trowa gazed up at the ceiling wondering what Quatre was up to. /He's always so patient with me./ the lion thought. He wished he had it in his heart to be more affectionate, but he was in constant terror of losing his soul to the demons that haunted his dreams. He was afraid of what those demons or he might do if he got to close to his beloved angel. Should he lose him even now the pain of Death's talons would break him into worthless pieces, without an ounce of compassion or happiness left to let him trod onward through life. Yes, he feared losing Quatre already and if he got still closer to him, then what would losing him do?   
  


Trowa shivered and stood. It was cold this morning. He walked over to the chair where he had unconsciously thrown his shirt last night, and put it on. Silently, the mime-like man fixed his hair where sleep had tossed it asunder. He avoided the man in the glass with stolid ease. He hated to look at him. Hated him, but the green eyes caught him and he was forced to stare-forced to see who he was and who he was afraid of being. When he couldn't stand the gaze any more he fled, walking out of the room to find the youth that he almost feared to call 'koi'.   
  


The Latin man was still pulling his well-used black turtleneck over his head when he heard the buzz from the door. Briefly, Quatre poked his head out of the kitchen, but Trowa nodded at him slightly so the youth went back to work. He knew from the nod that the lean man would handle things, which was just as well for him considering the temper of the stove today.   
  


So, Quatre went back to the business of finishing the breakfast for two. He had really hoped that Trowa would stay asleep, but now he would have to forget about breakfast in bed. At least he had planned for the early riser.   
  


He started setting the table, instead of the tray he had casually laid out the night before. Carefully, the Arab brought out the fine china that he had brought from L4 for special occasions such as these. All thought had been put into this meal. He only hoped his koi would appreciate it all. Everything was meant to be something that Trowa loved: Dark Spanish coffee with milk (*anyone who has had Spanish coffee knows that they brew it in milk! Good stuff*), Marias (*Spanish shortbread*), and soft breads with jams that came fresh from the bakery. The tea he had made was for himself, as he preferred that soothing drink, to the jolt that the coffee brought in the morning.   
  


As he finished, the golden lion entered through the kitchen. His look was outwardly calm, but it was a mask, like the one he used to wear as a clown in Catherine's circus, and the intuitive Arab read quickly beyond that. Something was wrong.   
  


"I made breakfast, Trowa-kun," the blond said shyly.   
  


The Spanish man didn't reply for a moment. He only sat down, dropping his tan head into his hand, as if he had a headache or were some old statue. Finally, he spoke.   
  


"That was Sally Po. She needs us to put out a fire in L3 again-More Barton followers. I volunteered us."   
  


Quatre's heart quailed. "But its Valentine's Day!"   
  


"Exactly. Who in their right mind would be engaged in warfare on such a gentle holiday."   
  


The pale Arab felt as if a heavy weight had just been dropped upon his shoulders. All of the happiness of his plans, all the joy he had prepare- gone in an instant. It wasn't fair to him or Trowa. It was as if they both had a mistress and her name was War.   
  


Gentle tears surfaced on his deep aqua eyes. They seemed like an ocean; wet, calm, soothing- but sad. He was tired of these fires. They always, always, always involved killing. He couldn't do it any more ... And even worse, Trowa didn't even seem to care about the holiday or anything he had done. It was depressing- like an oasis waiting for a rain that would never come.   
  


"What's wrong, koi?" the lion asked, trying to bring some note of tenderness to his voice.   
  


"It's nothing, Trowa. Nothing important."   
  


Trowa arched a brown eyebrow, but said nothing. He turned to his coffee and took a sip, admiring the robust flavor. Picking up a Maria with his free hand he spoke again. "Thank you for going to all of this trouble."   
  


Quatre forced a smile. "You are my koi. The least I can do is try to give you some happiness."   
  


"I don't deserve happiness. I don't deserve you."   
  


"That doesn't matter. I am here and will always be here. Death himself could not separate us. I would fly to you on wings of love, up from the depths of Hell or down from the light of heaven." /Without you/ continued the Arab in his mind, /any existence would be Hell. And with you, even Hell would be pleasant./ It was an irreverent thought, but he cast his chiding aside. It was true-even though he couldn't say all of it aloud, it was true. If only Trowa would stop running.   
  


The Latin man reached over and grabbed the angel's hand, letting unspilled tears flicker briefly at the edge of those cold pure emeralds. If only he could love as purely as his koi- his koi that could say so much with a blink of his sea green eyes. Trowa put down his cup, caught in the gaze. So beautiful ... And for a moment both were caught in the fear of the future and grasped each other in a loving embrace as if to ward of Death and his dark angels. Green eyes met watery ones, then lips met and parted, the two falling back from each other as snow falls softly to the ground. They didn't have to say that they loved each other. They both knew ... And if one of them didn't come out of battle this day, at least they had that as solace in their material separation.   
  


"I will never let you die, koi. I will always carry you with me," said Quatre.   
  


"I know, and I thank you." 


	2. Chapter 2

**Wings of Love**

Part 2****

_Kasage Starrunner****_   
  


Feb. 14 AC197 06:00   
  


The tall woman with twin blond braids called Sally Po was waiting in the hangar when the lovers arrived. Lines of worry creased her well-tanned face, and her whole body was tense.   
  


Her grey eyes turned apologetic when she saw them. Quatre had changed from his Arabic robes into his more familiar pale pink blouse, lavender-grey vest, and two-inches-too-long khakis. His pale blonde head leaned on his koi's shoulder, and his aqua eyes were open slightly, filled with melancholy preocupation.   
  


A sigh escaped him as he lifted his head from his broad shouldered companion. At the release of the pressure, Trowa straightened, looking briefly down at the desert angel who clung so lightly to his tight-fitting black turtleneck. For a brief instant, those cold emeralds softened, looking for all the world like the ice of Winter melting away to reveal a gentle, green Spring. However, the ice froze over once again as he turned back to the taller woman, serious and waiting.   
  


The woman codenamed Water shifted in her seat. "I'm terribly sorry about this mess," she started ackwardly. "It just seems that some of the Barton followers won't give up on fighting."   
  


Trowa nodded and pointed to the Preventer's laptop. "So where are the fires located?"   
  


Quatre stepped close to the screen as the tall woman bent down to adjust the picture. With the click of a button, a map of the L-3 colony cluster appeared. One could easily see that the potential fires were marked by red points.   
  


"As you can see, we have more fires than available Preventers in this sector. That's why I had to call this inconveniant meeting." Sally Po clicked again and the zoom screen appeared on a colony near the outside of the cluster. "This is colony X18989," the Preventer continued. "The colony has as of lately been suffering a number of highly organized raids, not-to-mention riots, caused by a covert militia group believed to be former members of the Barton Foundation. We have established that this Barton group's headquarters is here." Another box appeared on the screen showing a detailed map of a number of warehouses and other buildings, some of which were under contruction.   
  


"Why are you elaborating on this Barton group?" asked the silent clown.   
  


"Well, it seems that this group is involved in a massive operation to 'retrieve' their quote, unquote leader, Marimeia Khushrenada."   
  


The lion stood like a marble statue, cold and unyielding, however, the gentle blond beside him could see where this converstaion was going. She wanted the both fo them to keep an eye on Marimeia-as both bodyguard and babysitter. Sally Po knew as well as the rest of the world that the Earth Sphere Unified Nation didn't need another catastrophe like the one suffered over the holidays.   
  


"We'll take good care of Marimeia," stated the alabaster youth. His voice showed genuine kindness, if not enthusiasm. He liked children-even ones who had been raised to act like Marimeia. However, Sally Po interrupted him before the Arab could begin to offer a forgiving smile.   
  


"No. They've succeeded."   
  


Silence wove itslef around the room in thick webs, like an omnipotent god coming to show its true reign over the Earth in quiet triumph. The tendrils of darkness gagged the shocked lovers-stifled and muted them. Former Barton followers had gotten hold of the one icon that could ignite a conflagration- one that could engulf the whole worlds in seconds. The child had learned a lesson, but still ... A child was easy to control ... Too easy.   
  


The prospect was enough to choke the hope of true peace and a "happily ever after" right out of their very souls, leaving them balnk, empty, and confused at their abondonment. Sally Po's strange explaination was taking effect. Her next words, however, confirmed their worst fears.   
  


"What we're doing is sending a group to inflitrate the building as swiftly and safely as possible. This, however, will only be a distraction to give you two time to rescue Marimeia, although I can't promise all fo the rebel soldiers will be kept at bay."   
  


"And what group will you be with, Sally?" questioned Quatre.   
  


"I will be in charge of the infiltration group. From my experience, the fewer the members of the rescue team, the more likely they are to get in and out again unnoticed."   
  


They would be alone. All alone, with noone to help them if they failed. It wasn't that this had never been done before, but it had been a while since either Quatre or Trowa had a need to fight. They would have to rekindle the senses they branded into themselves over two years ago in Operation Meteor. That might take more time than they had.   
  


If they were lucky, it would come like riding a bicycle ... They had to hope for that, for each other's sake, and the child that needed their assistance.   
  


The Arab was suddenly struck with something and raised a worried eyebrow. "What was Marimeia's medical condition when she was kidnapped?" He remembered how the gunshot wound had debilitated her.   
  


"Last I heard, her physical therapy had been going very well. In fact, right before she was taken, the child had been able to start walking on her own again for brief amounts of time."   
  


Trowa and Quatre gave each other a knowing glance. "It sounds like there was a someone keeping very close watch on Marimeia. They obviously have been waiting for her to become independent again before taking her."   
  


Sally nodded. "Right now, however, the objective is to return her to Lady Une. You know what you have to do. We roundevous at the coordinates I gave you this morning at 22:00. Until then, get yourselves ready and try to find as much more information about these people as you can."   
  


The Preventor started to walk into her shuttle, but then remembered something else, and turned back around, a sharp glint in her slate eyes. "I'd suggest you get in contact with Lady Une, as well. She has more notes on the attacker than I can personally give. She can also tell you more about Marimeia's medical status. Meet you again at the roundevous."   
  
  
  


Feb. 14, AC197: 19:00   
  


The shuttle space seemed cramped to the two ex-gundam pilots en route to their mission. It was too small, too clean, too white, and on autopilot, but there was nothing they could do. It was the only shuttle available and it had to be small, that way no one could guess that the two were in league with the Preventors.   
  


As to their conversation with Laday Une, it had gone well. The head of teh Preventor Organization had only reaffirmed the conditions that Trowa dn Quatre already knew, with a few extra details on the side. As it was, they had found out that the red-headed child would have to be carried. She couldn't walk long distances, and in her present condition there was no way that she would be able to run, if that were necessary.   
  


"Three hours to operation time," stated Trowa smoothly. The blonde nodded at him and tried to reassure himself with a smile.   
  


"This is a routine rescue mission, right, Trowa?"   
  


"Of course."   
  


/Then why do I feel so nervous,/ he thought.   
  


"What's wrong, koi?" asked Trowa, very conscious of his partner's emotions.   
  


"I-I just ahve a bad feeling, that's all."   
  


Trowa nodded. He knew that feeling. It was the one he had woke up with and hadn't quite been able to dislodge. It was that pit feeling in his stomach, the prickling of the hairs on his neck ... The lion had never known himself to be intuitive before, but no he was certain something was going to happen. This wasn't going to be easy. He had known that from the moment the doorbell wrnag after he had thrust away his fragmented nightmares. He reached for them again, but they fled at his touch- like thousands of tiny insects skittering away when one turned on the latern at a campout.   
  


This only made the pit feeling worse. He really wished Sally had called Duo up for this job. There was no dangerous feeling about his life, but there was something wrong with their lives today. The Fates had a hand of cards that she was ready to play- Trowa didn't know if they were waiting for the two to call they're bluff or if they were playing true, holding one of the lovers' threads taught and ready to cut with the golden scissors wielded by Lachesis.   
  


The brown haired lion reached out, and his tanned hand was met by the angel's pale hand, his delicate fingers gently twisting in his grasp, trying to find some comforting gesture. Their eyes met for the second time that day, but this time those shining baubles were windows to pangs of worry, not the kind, gentle lapping of the waves of love and passion. Quatre could see Trowa's fear plain as day, event though the mime still fought to hide it-The Arabs emotions were just as open. He alwasy held them ackwardly in the palm of his hand, for all the world to see. It were as though he didn't want the human race to be alone with their pain.   
  


The lovers turned to the stars, spinning about in steady orbit in the galaxy called Milky Way. The shimmered and sparkled, shining down like millions of eyes- smiling at the kind, chiding the cruel, and crying for the lost souls making their weary way from the colorful land of the living, to the cold tombs of the inescapable Underworld. The rising Earth cried with them-cried for the return of her children, but the solem gatekeeper Death just turned his grim eyes away, letting the Earth, moon, and stars flicker in languid grace. It all made one feel so small, and yet, space made one feel welcome too. It was almost as the stars were some of those wayward souls, escaping from the gloom of Hades to live again as an angels in the sky. And there the myriad beings looked down upon the world from the sparkling realm of Dreams- warning lost travelers to beware, and cradling those who needed love and kindness.   
  


In this sort of half-mediational state, the two living stars reached out and wrapped each other in their waiting arms. Nestled together, the stared off into the hollow realm of Outer Space, and waited for the Fates to come to them. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Wings of Love**

Part 3****

_Kasage Starrunner****_   
  


Feb. 14, AC197: 22:08   
  


Two soldiers stood guard outside the door of the cell where the red-headed child called Marimeia was being held. The two were fairly young, and were not quite ready to give up the fight that the child had started over a month before. They were tired of being abused, discarded and would rather die than live where they were worthless.   
  


The taller man went by the name Donaldson. He was a stout chested man, with dark hair and eyes, who had played football at his local highschool before being pulled into the war. The call of fighting was like a magnet and pulled him into the OZ Specials, where he had been trained by a young and inexperienced Lucrezia Noin. The result was a less than moral soldier, who cared only for the bloodshed and his own worth. He would have been better as a spy. As it was, when OZ fell he was at the side of the Barton Foundation, and when that too fell he looked for the first sign of organized rebellion.   
  


His partner was a red-headed lad by the name of Peterson. As an American soldier, he had rebellion in his blood. He wasn't so sure about the fighting and was a more noble lad, yet quick to temper, like the father who had sent him into the military to learn respect and discipline. He didn't care much for Donaldson and this was made evident by the nervous glance of his warm brown eyes. He was the type of person one expected to meet working as a scientist or teacher even. There really wasn't the look of a fight about him, but there he was just the same, dragged into new battles by collegues who were a little more than coniving and treacherous. Peterson was a fairly bad judge of character.   
  


Turning around so that his back was to Donaldson, Peterson leaned into the window of the cell. Marimeia was sitting asleep in a chair just inside, weary of her screams of protest and their inherant incompetance and rudeness. Peterson shook his head as he remembered. "Is this any way to treat the in-in-invalid!" she had stuttered, ferociously forcing out the last word in a fit of rage worthy of Lady Une's less than kind alternate personality.   
  


"She's a real brat, en't she," stated Donaldson, as he turned to see what the heck Peterson was looking at. "She en't changed since Barton lost her, 'cept she doesn't want to take over the Earth Sphere any more." The Scotsman laughed. It was a deep laugh, full of contempt for the small child lying wheezing in that chair. He turned around and spat, watching the rusty color of his chew hit the floor with a disgusting splat and then laughed again. "She's got a temper ... If she weren't useful to the Branch I'd out and pop her little carrot head off right now."   
  


Peterson sighed, but said nothing. Donaldson was drunk ... Again. What was he to do if those damned ESUN Preventors showed up to take the child back. They be dead in a heartbeat and all because the idiot guard wasn't sober.   
  


Peterson looked down and pulled out a key with his left hand. "Listen, Donaldson, I'm going in to check on the kid. She's not well and you know that. Stay out here and keep watch."   
  


The Scot shrugged and pulled a flask out of his uniform. "Yeah, I'll keep watch for you-you pansey."   
  


The red-head just shrugged and opened the door, trying to ignore the stench of whiskey. At least Donaldson could have chosen a drink with more class. Then again ... He was Donaldson, and he had no class.   
  


Quietly, the young guard stepped in, letting the door swing carelessly on its hinges. He knew that the child couldn't run, and it wasn't likely that anyone would be coming this way anytime soon, otherwise they would have heard an alert a good while ago.   
  


He smiled as he saw the sleeping child. He couldn't help it. For all his temper, he had always liked children. Marimeia wasn't near so bad as Donaldson made her out to be. In fact, she seemed much less spoiled now than she had been.   
  


The red-headed child stirred in her sleep and a blue eye opened drowsily. Peterson's smile widened when he saw her wake. The kid'd be alright, so it seemed. "Morning, Miss Marimeia," stated the soldier amicably. He had been one of the soldiers under her direct command before, though she likely didn't remember it. As she blinked her eyes confusedly, the older red-head became more certain that she did not recognise him. "I hope you had a good sleep."   
  


The child's eyes narrowed. "You drugged me,"she accused.   
  


"No you wore yourself out."   
  


This only caused her to glare more fiercely. "You lie. You drugged me to keep me quiet. You wanted me out of the way."   
  


"Trust me, miss, if I wanted you out of the way, you'd be dead. As it is, I can't do better than this."   
  


Her expression sobered a little. At least this man had respect, and was honest-blunt even. "Why am I here?" she asked.   
  


It had been the first time the child had asked a question instead of making blatant accusations at the men who had brought her here. It made Peterson feel a lot more comfortable. He sent her another smile before he answered.   
  


"Miss Marimeia, we've brought you here to-"   
  


His statement was broken off by a large thud. "Donaldson!" the youth cried out, his eyes not leaving the child. "Donaldson!-" He started to turn around. "Dang it, I told him he would pass out on the-" Suddenly he was a very startled soldier in the face of a very unsure Quatre Raberba Winner. Just behind him stood Trowa, who had just finished the job of removing the obstacle of Donaldson. The 'obstacle' was a real joke, considering how drunk the man was. Trowa had barely even made an effort to knock the Scotsman out.   
  


Face to face the two very different soldiers were quite stunned. Kind nature fought kind nature in a very strange sort of half staredown. However, the blond hesitated only a moment before knocking Peterson out. Unfortunately that gave the hapless American just enough time to hit the emergency button in his right pocket.   
  


The blond grimaced and Trowa looked down at his watch, 22:25. They had approimately five minutes to get out of that room before being made into sitting ducks by the chaos that would likely ensue from the emergency signal. Trowa gave a sharp look at his partner. Now they would have to escape through a tirade of gunfire.   
  


Quatre flinched at the look, but turned his attention to the startled red-head staring with young, fearful eyes. The Arab knew from the pleading look on that once proud face that Miss Mariemeia could no more walk in this condition than a man could swim in quicksand. However, he also knew better than to argue with a little girl who would rather walk herself out of her own cell than be carried like an infant. After escaping 'herself' the child would be quite content to be hoisted into the air and carried hurriedly away from the Barton Followers base.   
  


The ocean eyed blonde looked imporingly at Trowa, who bent down to take the quavering child's tiny hand. "Come, Mariemeia. We're taking you home."   
  


Those few steps out the door seemed to take hours instead of the minute that it truly took. The quiet tap-tap of Mariemeia's aptent leather shoes resounded off the walls like cannon balls in the ears of the not-so-content rescuers. Quatre led the way, his pistol poised and ready to fire. With care he stepped over the unconscious body of Donaldson, watching with careful blue eyes as the famous child and his beloved koi did the same.   
  


The two turned their back once again when they came to the hall door. It had closed behind them as they had entered in the first place, and now the two were forced to reopen the door. Trowa had the key and he released the red-head's hand to Quatre as he dug the key card again from his pocket. The Arab crossed the room, given the Latin man room to breath and work, letting the child's gaze stare imploringly up at him.   
  


Quatre tried to smile comfortingly. Mariemeia was depending on him to protect her from whatever fighting would ensue. She trusted him and Trowa completely to keep her fragile body out of the cross-fire. For a moment the youth contemplated the mystery of childhood and how it had fled so fast from his chubby hands as his body and mind had changed, forced to become a man by the sorrows of war. Who killed Innocence anyway ... Was war and Experience always straonger in the end?   
  


The sharp eyed nomad look up as he caught a glimpse of movem,ent from the corner of his eye. A soft gasp escaped his delicate lips as he realized what was going on. Donaldson was no longer unconscious and his gun was pointed straight at Quatre's beloved lion.   
  


The gleam of hatred in that Scotsman's eye was unmistakable as he focused in on his target. A leering grin filled his tan face as spittle ran down his chin. He looked to all the world like a rabid dog, drooling with anger and cruelty.   
  


Trowa turned around, the door open just as Donaldson pulled the trigger, but he would not hit his intended mark. Something possessed the Arab soldier to waste his own life in that instant. He had promised to protect Trowa and on an instinct of love his body was thrust between the bullet and its intended victim, letting his body fall at the impact of the lethal piece of lead.   
  


Something told Quatre that this was all that was left for him. Either he had to die or Trowa did and Trowa had not had happiness yet. It would be wrong for him to live on and the Lion to die without having felt happiness once in his life. These thoughts and others passed through his mind. It seemed he fell for an eternity. All went balck and memories flooded his frightened, caring mind, but still he fell downward ... Ever downward.   
  


And he was back where he began. No color, no feeling, just emptiness. A vague depression filled the soul of Quatre Raberba Winner. He was dead ... He was a prisoner of Death and he might never escape to see his koi again. Unmoving the spirit stayed curled where he had fell, trying again to pull at the hapy memories. At least he could immerse himself in those, but it was to no avail. All he could think was that he had betrayed his beloved Trowa, betrayed him by leaving him as he had promised that he never would. Then his mind sank into emptiness like the world around him and his heart poured out the tears of a thousand forgotten wounds to an unforgiving Limbo. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Wings of Love**

Part 4****

_Kasage Starrunner****_   
  


Feb. 14, AC197 ::22:27   
  


Trowa had froze when he saw his beloved leap forth from the shadows where he had been standing with Mariemeia Khushrenada. The whole scene had seemed to play itself out surrealistically, like a tape in slow motion: Quatre's cry, his leap, the shot. He saw the bullet at impact, saw the crimson burst from the angel's chest, then watched as he fell for what seemed like miles upon miles until the limp body hit the ground with a leaden thud, blood pooling into a small scarlet lagoon.   
  


And the attacker, the cowardly drunk he thought he had killed on entrance, had fled. The man who should be dead, but no Quatre was ... Because of him   
  


He was numbed by it all. His he was the Lion, but his Lamb was dead: stolen from him by a cruel and unhearing world. Slowly, he was brought back into the world of the living by a soft, plaintive cry. The child, Mariemeia, had stumbled over to the lifeless body of the pale Arab and was afraid.   
  


With icy blue eyes she gazed unbelieving. A dainty, white hand reached out to touch his cold face and then the blood surrounding the shell of what had been a man. At the touch of the thick liquid she jerked back, the tips of her fingers stained red. With some kind of tentative fascination she held the blood hand up to her face, in clear view of those somewhat glassy eyes, watching the scarlet trickle down her hand like a tainted mountain spring, turned red by the blood spilled on her mother, Earth.   
  


Somewhere in her eight year old mind, the child with hair almost as red as the liquid that stained her hands, understood what had happened in such a brief amount of time. It was like the slap that awakened her in the face of world destruction. She understood now what her injury meant, and how amazing it was she was there that day, staring at the man who would have rescued her and had indeed rescued Trowa. A deep and knowing ache filled her ignorant heart, killing off another piece of the innocence that made her a child. Filled with sudden anger at herself and anger at all the soldiers that the world had ever born, the red-headed child doubled over. Her sobbing seemed to shake the earth that nourished her, her tears mingling with the blood of her rescuer. Blood that was made of salt water from the same seas that gave birth to those tears.   
  


Somewhere in the midst of her sobbing she looked up meeting Trowa's cold emeralds with a wide-eyed bewilderment, mixed with semi-adult understanding. The Lamb had died for the Lion. Why?   
  


Those cold eyes pierced into her, causing her to look away. Something was wrong with Nanashi-Trowa. This time they had stabbed him too deep, those demons. The mime felt like snapping-breaking into a million pieces, taking the world with him in his downfall to Hell. The startled child saw this, unknowingly, and with the vague look that had crossed her face once before-over the holidays, she stood and walked waveringly over to Trowa.   
  


Trowa's mind was like a storm, wild and uncontrollable. Those few minutes in the HeadQuarters of the Barton Followers were like his own personal journey into Hades and then back again. He saw and yet he did not see, and when soldiers arrived at the scene of what had been coded and emergency, the Lion acted and reacted in a cold, blind manner.   
  


He didn't know how many there were. He didn't know how many he killed. He was only aware of the machine gun that he mechanically fired at the lines of men, and the red-headed child cling fearfully to his leg-watching the blitzkrieg fusillades with a frightened sort of intensity.   
  


And then it was over, as quickly and strangely as it had begun. Trowa dropped the machine gun as if the metal burnt, gazing at his hands as if they were branded while at the same time listening to the clang as the weapon hit the ground. He didn't know where Donaldson and Peterson were, nor did he care. All that held his attention now was the body of Quatre. He bent down and stared, wanting to cry but unable to force the tears from his soul. He was ignorant of so much, but he knew one thing for certain. He couldn't leave his koi's body there for those villains to cannibalize.   
  


Carefully, he lifted the Arab's body over his shoulder, glaring venomously at the dead soldiers-daring them to try and stop him. Mariemeia's lithe form followed shortly after, the little girl jerking violently away before he could hoist her. However, in a moment, she too was hanging over his shoulder, her head bobbing confusedly as the silent clown left the carnage behind.   
  


"There is no peace anymore," muttered the mime. "You all will die for the angel you destroyed."   
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Wings of Love**

Part 5****

_Kasage Starrunner****_   
  


**_Special Disclaimer/Author's Note:_**

_Gavin/Azrael is copyright of ME. I am very possessive of this character and he is only being used in this fanfic because it is, in my eyes, the best way to further the plot. If you know my work, you have seen him a couple of times before, namely in **Maddening Lullabye**. If I'm asked nicely, I may allow you to use him for angst fic purposes and such, but I am working on my own stories involving him. (Which may soon also be available if you ask). Thanks in advance for your compliance._   
  


The spirit of Quatre Winner lay curled on the ground, if one could even call it such. The scenery was so hazy and surreal that it was hard to tell. Not that any of this mattered to the grieving soul. All that matter was the retainment of the memories that were rightfully his. Memories that he had earned by living.   
  


Quietly, the blonde uncurled himself, unaware if he had lain there for minutes, hours, or days. Time eluded him. There was no sun, only a soft throbbing light that seemed to emanate from the thick air around him.   
  


Slowly but surely it dawned on the him that he was no longer alone in his agony. Thousands of transparent beings hovered around him, as though waiting for his story-any news from the world of the living-but fearing that he had forgotten as quickly as they what life and senses were like. These pleading eyes gazed at him, so hoepfully, the only things real and colorful in that bleak world. /The eyes are the windows to the soul/ recalled the form vaguely.   
  


Looking around, the fallen angel stood, trying to take in the Underworld that attempted to drown all logical thought in a turbid river of bleak hopelessness. Upon further study of the gazing spirits surrounding him, he was startled to see that he could not tell who was male and who was female. The souls were genderless, colorless-but the look in their eyes was as bare as the naked souls before him. Every right and every wrong each soul had ever done was shining, as plain as day, on its unveiled face. Some were killers, some were lovers, and all at once Quatre knew for certain that he was never wrong in loving Trowa.   
  


It was a purifying experience.   
  


However, something deep inside the pale ghost still shivered. Why had these spirits all congregated around him? He was no different from they as far as he could tell. Countless souls must pass into this greay, bleak world daily, yet the souls surrounded /him/. Maybe, somehow, he was more solid than the rest.   
  


A thought struck, blind siding him again with frustration, fear, and agony. /Trowa-promise./ He brought his wandering mind back to its task. He could not leave Trowa behind. He had to find a way out. He had to seek him out. He had to keep his promise, even if it took until Trowa was an old man, Quatre would keep his promise.   
  


He stepped forward and the spirits parted to let him through, almost as if they were afraid to touch him, as though he were some holy being. And yet, they also seemed to sense his urgency, and this urgency became a presence in their own minds and hearts as well.   
  


The blond's feet walked steadily toward nowhere, with no idea where exactly to go. He thought that he saw his father once-thought he recognised his eyes. For once, they were not condescending. They understood. They nodded him onward. It was strength for his failing will, bait for his fleeing memories. All at once he was forgiven.   
  


And he walked onward.   
  


He passed by people he didn't know a hundred times. He passed by all the dead soldiers, fallen men of this war and others. He saw his enemies, even men he had killed himself, nod at him in understanding, not the least bit hateful for what he had done to them. From the look in their eyes, they were thankful for the Arab's apology, and forgiving for their deaths by his hands.   
  


But where could he go? It had seemed that he had walked for miles without getting anywhere at all. The more he walked, the more it all looked the same- bleak, desolate, misty, and full of strange staring faces.   
  


And then it all changed, or moreover, the mist disappeared. There was something suddenly more alive about the world around him ... Maybe it was the lack of curious faces. As it seemed there were no spirits left, which in itself was strange, as Quatre had become accustumbed to the constant pressure of eyes. As he looked around he did spy one lonely spirit- no, not spirit ... boy! There was a boy in this bleak, grey world of spirits, one very much alive. Why?   
  


The boy stepped toward him, allowing Quatre to better see his features. He was a young boy, perhaps nine or ten, incredibly thin in the graceful way of a willow tree or deer. That unearthly grace likely wouldn't change, and were the Arab convinced that he was indeed a completely living boy, he would assume that the boy would one day have many people, both male and female attracted to him.   
  


His hair was stark white. The sunlight, had it existed in the world, would have played infinite colors in it, dazzling the eyes. his skin was the alabaster color that Quatre's had been, as though the material sun couldn't touch its purity, couldn't stain it tan with its harmful rays. Then there was his eyes ... They were so haunting and deep, a deep emerald labyrinthe of hidden thoughs and emotions. Yet at the same time they were gentle, comforting, naive. The boy seemed so innocent and undefiled. He was a pearl, pure ... Priceless to someone who cared for him.   
  


This all led the pale blond to an embaressing, beautiful thought. If he and Trowa could have ever had a child, this beautiful being standing in black before him would be that child. In a strange way, the boy seemed to be made of them both, though as far as he could recolect the boy could be no possible realtion to either.   
  


It was a pleasant reminder of his love, but who was the boy? He couldn't possibly be real. This was a world of death and spirits ... How could a true boy be standnig here. He feared it all a hallucination, and reached out to touch the pale skin to see if the youth was truely real.   
  


All at once, the boy giggled. It was a high and joyful laugh- like something had just tickled him.   
  


"Stop that!" he cried. His voice was a slightly gravelly soprano. "You tingle." The blond haired spirit jerked back, startled and apologetic. The child only forced a ghostly smile, which was somehow as reassuring as disturbing. "It's alright."   
  


A thousand questions formed in the dead youth's mind at once. Who? What? How? Why? The child was here for a reason, and frighteningly unafraid of the Death that surrounded him.   
  


The child seemed to read his mind. "I saw Death the second I was born and I didn't die." Quatre just stared unbelieving. "You can't foget something like that, even when you try. I see you people and visit this world all of the time."   
  


"Wh-who are you?"   
  


"People here call me Azrael-the angel of Death. I used to be afraid, but now I'm not. I'm never alone, it would seem ... Somebody once named me Gavin, but I don't remember who ... She died, that's all I know. If she's here I never see her. Sometimes I think she flew ... Who are you?"   
  


The spirit thought and then choked back a sob. His name! His name had fled him, no!   
  


After what seemed like hours it came. "Q-quatre Raberba Winner." He would /not/ lose that.   
  


"You're forgetting aren't you. I bet you won't though. You're not like the others. You're different ... You left something undone?"   
  


"I-I made a promise."   
  


The white haired child nodded, hazy green eyes filling with tears. All at once, Quatre though tthat the child was like sea foam and his eyes were the sea. The sea ... The thought cuased him briefly to wonder on this source of evolution and life- things that had once been heretical to ponder. Things that Mariemeia in a way had pendered herself at Quatre's death, him never knowing.   
  


It was all he had to believe in now. That and Trowa.   
  


"I see him in your eyes ..." stated Gavin in a mellow voice.   
  


"Huh ..."   
  


"You love him." It was a frank statement, one only a child would make. "No one loves me. They're afraid. The tell me I'm crazy."   
  


"That's sad." The statement was genuine. No one should ever be ostarcized, especially a nine year old boy.   
  


"No one understands what I see or why I see it."   
  


Quatre smiled. His memory came more easily around this child. Perhaps it was his life energy, rubbing off on the spirit. "One day," the ghost said, "Someone will love you despite that. Then what the world thinks won't matter anymore."   
  


"Maybe."   
  


He seemed so uncertain. This made the blond sad. Something like tears prickled his shining blue orbs. It was tragic. Though Azrael or Gavin, or whatever they called him, smiled and acted with pure innocence, the Arab knew that the boy had lost all of his innocence the moment of his birth. Gavin know the significance of Death and where he lead souls. The child knew that one day he would die and follow the same road as everyone else. He knew about humanity, and the blood staining it. One could almost see it trickling symbolically down his hands, his deep eyes staring with horrified understanding.   
  


He knew all about Death, didn't fear it ... And yet there was something.   
  


"You want out, don't you," said the child suddenly.   
  


"Is there a way out."   
  


The pale faced boy motioned Quatre closer. "There is a way out, but you must be brave ..."   
  


The spirit leaned in on the boy, looking at those depthful eyes ... Trying to discern the truth.   
  


"Where?"   
  


"Not where, Quatre, how. You love somebody, so maybe ..." he paused. The flicker of fear reached out to him and then faded again. "You can only escape here with wings. The winged ones leave here and I never see them again. They take a ship across the Sea and when their wings are grown they fly away ... Fly away somewhere."   
  


"Where?"   
  


"Heaven I suppose." The child sighed. There was more too it than that- things too hard to understand. He wanted to tell this Quatre, but he was afraid ... It was that flicker that kept showing in his eyes. The thing that scared him ...   
  


But he wanted this nice spirit to keep his promise, the promise he knew was to his true love- And if in the end that choice brought him to reside in this world ... It didn't matter. Love was more important. Love ... For the first time someone understood ...   
  


And that was something. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Wings of Love Part VI (6/?) (3x4,4x3)**   
  
  
  


Feb. 17, AC. 197 :: 09:00   
  
  
  


It was a difficult time for anyone who had been close to the war. Quatre's death was a shock and a tragedy to all those who had survived the odds so long. Trowa's grief tinged the heart of others, especially that of Lady Une, who had also lost a loved one to a war, and the heart of Lucrezia Noin, as her beloved Zechs had been killed in a remote Oxygen accident on Mars. It had been the even that brought her back to Earth, only to find that a completely different tragedy had struck.   
  
  
  


The funeral was as hard to plan as t was to perform. Trowa had little knowledge of the young Arab's desires for burial. He had known him such a short time, they had never thought to think about the end. But that end cam so suddenly, and he feared deciding the blond pacifist's final resting place on his own. It seemed so many people knew now of the sacrifice of the Lamb: how he hated killing and wished for pece, despite finding the necessity to fight. "War brings sorrow, but we must fight to protect the ones we love from sorrow."   
  
  
  


Those words echoed through Trowa's head on the shore of what had once been a fairytale kingdom, lit by glimmering lights, and festive gallantry. Now all forgotten, bulldozed over by machins of war in the year AC 195.   
  
  
  


The Sanc Kingdom ... His beloved Quatre would have given his soul to rbing this world to life again. He almost had given his life on several times for that ideal it had stood for.   
  
  
  


"But we must fight to protect the ones we love from sorrow."   
  
  
  


Quatre had stood by that, even in his final moments. "War brings sorrow ..." Quatre's death, all for him. All for him and what was he worth? Spittle? A stone? He was the stone that struck down the Lamb. The Cross on which he hung. "Protect the ones we love ..." Love? What was love? He had thought he had known ... Quatre had loved him. He never gave him that ... There was no word for it, but he should have returned that precious gift to his amor.   
  
  
  


Emerald eyes cast themselves upon the sea, thinking back to a time as a child when he had stood in a run-down South American church-seeking some name, some faith in life. He could almost hear the bells ...   
  
  
  


//   
  
  
  


The bells pealed above him in a solemn inquiry. The air was hot, full of dew and moisture, causing the shirt to cling to the skin, like wet leaves upon the ground. He was alone, the mercenaries surrounding his world having destroyed much of this town not long before.   
  
  
  


It had been ransacked, looted ... burnt to the ground. Yet, somehow, the bandits dared not to touch this sacred ground.   
  
  
  


Nanashi had never been devout. He had never known any God at all, let alone the Cristian one, yet something possessed him to kneel at that altar. He hoped, hoped so greatky, that for once in his life, there was such as thing as God, and the Messiah, forgiveness ... Faith. He needed faith. And a name, but he had none at all.   
  
  
  


Green eyes filled with tears suddenly. He had helped destroy this little village. Why? Why, God, whoever you are, had he done such a thing. He looked upward, able to see the white clouds swilring above him through cracks in the plaster and adobe. Communism ... They had told him it was to protect the world from Communism. That hadn't been the name, but the statement was true enough to history.   
  
  
  


And innocent people had died for an ideal.   
  
  
  


Footsteps padded softly behind him. The young Lion swirled around, startled and threatened all at once. All that looked upon him was a black robed priest. Well, the robes had been black, but hard labor had sun bleached them to a shade of grey. Their ends were tattered, and bits of dark tanned skin revealed themselves in the owrn folds of the ancient cotton fabric.   
  
  
  


"Que paso? Que paso que causaria lagrimas en un nino?" What happened that would move a boy to tears? Nanashi just sat on his hauches, unable to answer. The kindness of the priest only made his guilt a heavier burden upon his shoulders.   
  
  
  


"You cry for this?" The old man gestured to the charred rubble out the window of the church, brown eyes watering a little in his wrinkled and weathered face. "It is sad ... A tragedy, what people do." He looked down into the emeralds and nodded. For a moment, he saw through the mask of the mime, looking deep into his soul as though to see his destiny ... Seeing the Lion within him.   
  
  
  


"Let me tell you something, Ariel," he said. It startled the boy. Had he called him a name? The raven robed prest smiled softly. "Yes, you are the Lion, Ariel. I can see it in your soul. Don't weep for these people. They are in a better world. Don't go flying about in the wind crying over things you can do nothing for.   
  
  
  


"Hold fast to something. Fear not this death ... These things ... They come to pass all througout this bloody planet. But God teaches me something and keep it with you now, little lion ... "Greater love has no man than this ... Than to lay down his life for his friend." Eh, hold fast to that. It will keep you strong, not matter your faith.   
  
  
  


"You, now, leave from here. Get on with your life. You have a long way to go before burdens like these make your back as crooked as a snake, hm. Adios, little lion."   
  
  
  


Nanashi found himself being stood and hustled out of the church. When he glanced back into the run down burden, the priest was gone. The Latin secretly wondered if he was ever really there.   
  
  
  


//   
  
  
  


/Yes, the old priest was right, I just never understood/ thought Trowa. "Greater love has no man than this, than to lay down his life for his friends./ That alone gave him strength. Strength to watch his friend be buried beneath the soil. Strength, perhaps, to let go. Not of Quatre, but of the regret gnawing at his soul like a guilty demon.   
  
  
  


A sharp wind came over the ocean, and the Latin pulled his black coat tighter around him. Calmly, he walked over the bridge of the rockly shore, back toward the light of his friends. He could just hear the waves break over the rocky slopes behind him. It was mind numbing ... And soothing.   
  
  
  


But the cemetery he appoached was a soft mud. He could hear the sound of it, squishing under his boots. The other mourners had gathered ... He'd missed the eulogy. The mime supposed the Miss Relena had said some wonderfult hings about his koi, but Trowa himself hadn't the courage to say them. /I never was that brave/ thought the youth, regretting again. He bit his lip and took his place among the masses, close enough to see the procession of Maguanacs carrying the white shrounded body of their late Master to his grave.   
  
  
  


It was good that they followed the Moslem tradition, for the Arab's sake. Rasid and Abdul had insisted quite adamantly that the youth be buried and not cremated. So here he was, being carried to his resting place by the restless seas, to await the resurrection of his body, while his soul resided in Paradise.   
  
  
  


It was a lovely thought anyway.   
  
  
  


Trowa briefly felt Catherine's eyes behind him. She had never approved of Quatre and his relationship, but it seemed his sister had forgiven him enough to join him in this last rite toward his love. He knew she was crying. She had always been emotional and her tears were infectious, spreading to Hilde and Relena, even the Shinigami, Duo Maxwell himself, as they tried to retain the calm best suggested by the Maguanac family. But then, Maxwell still pushed it all away with a false smile, clenching fists giving away his true demeanor. He still felt that unquenchable need to retain his manhood, and American casuality.   
  
  
  


He knew Noin was there too. Noin had seen Quatre as a brother. One family member that she hadn't lost to war. In the end, war had got him and Zechs too so it seemed. He felt a twinge of remorse in his heart, feeling partly responsible for adding to the former Preventor's tragic life. They had shared a love of space, Noin and Quatre had. She witheld a lot of tears ... Trowa knew that she wished very much to cry as openly as Hilde and Catherine ... But she had the respect not to.   
  
  
  


Wufei, Lady Une, Dorothy ... They too hid their tears, covering their weaknesses with a will to be strong unlike so many of the people Trowa had ever met. Their minds were like iron, and they could stand this torture, if only to prove it to themselves. Sally Po had a harder time with the whole ordeal. In a way, it was her fault-or at least in her mind it wasn't. She wasn't about to share the blame with anybody, and her body slunk heavily with despair, like the great stone figure of Atlas, muscles straining to hold up the world.   
  
  
  


Standing in the distance, however, was the most surprising figure that Trowa spied. Heero Yuy stood upon the headland, back to the crowd facing the sea, trying to ignore the turmoil that in rejoining the others here today he faced. No one had noticed him come, but for the emerald eyes that spied all. The warrior just stood their, facing the wind, fist clenched as if holding a spear, face battleworn-weary. For all the world he wished the wind would blow him away from here, away from life- where ever that little girl and her dog had gone ... Where ever Quatre had gone now ... But it was to no avail. He was trapped, a lonely spirit in a human body, dreading each step he took toward destiny. Why hadn't his worthless life been taken instead of Quatre's? The Arab had always been so innocent, so free from the hatred and death that had burned holes in the Zero pilots heart. The world had no need for a dead man. The world had no need for Heero Yuy.   
  
  
  


His fist clenched harder, digging the blunt ends of his dirty fingernails into his palms, leaving crescent shaped marks hat would scar for perhaps five minutes or more.   
  
  
  


/Do not be afraid to act on your emotions/   
  
  
  


The thought was a breaking point for a broken man. A lone tear trickled down the young soldier's face, escaping that prison in which he had locked them so long ago ...   
  
  
  


And no one noticed.   
  
  
  


The world was far too focused on the body that had been the shell of one that was a Lamb. However, not one of them had known the Lamn near so well as Trowa. No one knew the pain, physical and emotional, that the angel had felt each time another soldier fell. Not even Heero ... But then, perhaps he did ... Some days it seemed Heero understood everyone.   
  
  
  


He looked back to the man standing alone and sighed. There stood a man who would never know love. He would not let himself. In his eyes he didn't deserve it.   
  
  
  


But he shook his mind away, back to where the Maguanacs threw shovelfuls of dirt on the open grave. He couldn't take it anymore. His Lamb, his angel, all gone- all that was left the husk being buried in the soil.   
  
  
  


He wished he were being buried with him. He wanted to be suffocated- to join his koi for eternity. His mind closed off the pain, trying to suffocate it like he wanted to be suffocated.   
  
  
  


And then he felt it. It was so small a pressure that it took him by surprise, a tiny hand locking into his. Startled, the Lion looked down into the wide blue eyes of the only other witness to the gentle Arab's death. She looked back, those eyes reflecting the light like clouds in her sky blue eyes. They were so wide, yet that flavor of innocence they had once held had been lost ... And for some reason, that made Trowa sad.   
  
  
  


/Wars make children grow too soon old/ he thought.   
  
  
  


He felt pinpricks in his eyes. The tears were near and soon they would fall. Fall for so many reasons unsaid.   
  
  
  


"Do you want to die, Trowa-kun?" she whispered, eyes watering back at him. "I do too." The voice was like the wind, soft and gentle. With that same gentleness, Marimeia leaned forward, her tiny arms encircling the Latin youth's waist as best she could. She sniffled quietly as she spoke, "He died for you, Trowa-kun ... And for me." Then suddenly the grief tore loose, and the tiny girl buried her face in Triwa's abdomen and sobbed- frightened, sad, confused.   
  
  
  


He held her therem soothing her with the touch of a calloused hand. Quatre had taught him that. Quatre had taught him gentleness. "Quiet now, Maricita. It'll be okay."   
  
  
  


The sobs softened and she murmured into his shirt, voice muffled by the cloth. "We can't die, Trowa."   
  
  
  


"Huh?" Trowa gazed down, confused, as her soft voice was hard to understand.   
  
  
  


Marimeia looked up. "If we died, then Q-chan died for no reason. Then -then there would have-have ..." She stopped.   
  
  
  


"You entiendo, Maricita. I understand."   
  
  
  


Feb. 17, AC. 197 :: 17:00   
  
  
  


"Damn sonuvabitch," muttered Donaldson, his voice breaking over the hum of the medical equipment. His hazel eyes shone with the same malice that the half sober Scots accent showed, and Peterson skittered backward, unsure of how to react.   
  
  
  


The other man just grinned, brushing his oily mop of dark brown hair back with a less than clean hand. The red-head got a good look at those grimy finger nails and grimaced. /Does Mic ever take a bath./ Like Mic Donaldson had read his mind, the candid, rotting smile faded into a look of disgust.   
  
  
  


"What's your problem anyway, eh Peterson. You been dancing like a chicken since I 'it my 'ead on the door frame exiting that mess 'th the mercenary ESUN back at old 'ead Quarters."   
  
  
  


"It just makes me nervous when you get so drunk you can't stand straight." The American fidgeted more, not wanting to anger his friend. After the death fo that nice young ESUN boy, he wasn't wuite sure what to make of his partner. It had been a frenzied act of rage, no calculation, no idea of the consequence. The filthy man may have started a war over a trifle.   
  
  
  


Mic just laughed at him. "You worry too much. I tell you, lad, I'll kill that bastard yet. He can only run so long."   
  
  
  


/And you can't run at all/ though the red head. "Listen, Mic, I got errands to run for the Commander."   
  
  
  


"Oh, sure, sure. I'll live alright. But I'm telling you, rat bastard's gonna die."   
  
  
  


Peterson just waved him off and stepped into the hall, into saftey. How did he get in with these people. If Donaldson wasn't his death he would be his own. The youth wiped his freckle face with a well-worn hankerchief. What would happen now? He remembered waking up groggy from the punch that had been launched by the now dead blond. He remembered Donaldson firing ... The look on the blonde's face and his leap to saftey. He remembered grabbing Donaldson from the floor and dragging his so-called friend, running, from the room, glancing at the dead-shocked face of the strange haired brunnette who had been the target of Donaldson's outrage.   
  
  
  


And then the fool had hit his head, and ended up in the hospital to be detoxified. Idiot, talking about revenge when he could barely take care of himself.   
  
  
  


The youth retreated to the barracks, falling on his bed with weary easy. An old magazine was laying their where his partner had left a few days ago, the naughty pictures on the cover a tell-tale hint of what lay beneath. Mic had a sick mind.   
  
  
  


Distantly, the carrot top heard a knock at the door. "Come in."   
  
  
  


The door opened, and in stepped the figure of another solder. "You alright Peterson?"   
  
  
  


He eyed the blond stepping through the door. He was a dainty man, reminding him of the guy he shot, but his shoulders were wider, a hidden power. The eyes were slate grey, thin and cold, but under that mask was a warmth of kindness not often seen with a Barton family member. Terrance Barton was the orginal Trowa's Barton's cousin, but he had more strength and courage, and his own reasons for fighting a hopeless war.   
  
  
  


Peterson nodded quietly, brown eyes never leaving the pale face. "Better than Donaldson. Like a seat?" He moved his feet from the bed, boots hitting the floor with a thud. Terrance joined him.   
  
  
  


"I'm sick of this. Why does Veinte keep on. The cause is dead, yet he still has us fight for familoy honor."   
  
  
  


"Dunno, Terrance. I'm not a Barton."   
  
  
  


The straw haired youth look at him, trying to pierce into the casual man's inner demons-find out what made him tick. It was disturbing. "Why are you here, Alan? You aren't a Barton, and the majority of the United States of the Americas joined up with ESUN at the end of the Marimeia Uprsising, along with its colony members. What makes you stay."   
  
  
  


Alan Peterson tried to shrug off the question, but the Barton continued to gaze at him with a great and frightening intensity. "Quit it, man, you're scaring me. I guess I was in the wrong place at the wrong time."   
  
  
  


Terrance sighed, recognising defeat. If Peterson didn't want to talk about it, he wouldn't force him. The last person he wnated to be like was Grandpa Dekim, the man who had seen no promise in the soft-hearted youth. He would not grow hard to please his ends. He would stay soft and patient, and give quiet force where necessary. With luck, after this new rebellion he would be able to hide his Barton past and earn some political respect.   
  
  
  


But that was a long time in coming. "So what's Donaldson raving about now, Al."   
  
  
  


"Same old, same old. Has some ESUN mercenary with his name on it. The guy from Headquarters. Goes as Trowa Barton, like your cousin."   
  
  
  


Terrance nodded. "He was a Gundam pilot. I know him, or enough about him. He was a mechanic for Trowa before he unfortunately died." The Barton didn't even pause. Trowa was a jerk, and if a semi-homnorable fighter for peace had taken his name, so be it. "They called him Nanashi, No-Name. He was a Latin, by best guess. Anyways, never thought much about him. I'm just glad before he got to Trowa before he went totally crazy. Hope I don't go crazy too."   
  
  
  


"Ah, you'll probably discover that you're adopted."   
  
  
  


For a moment the cronies shared a grin. /God, its good to be alive/ thought Peterson. /Better alive than dead./   
  
  
  


Feb. 18th, AC. 197 :: 00:01   
  
  
  


The night was cold, and the brisk sea breeze frigid. The waves seemed to be throwing a tantrum in some dark place beyond the reach of human sight. It was silent but for that and the soft thud of footsteps. Trowa Barton had a final good-bye to say.   
  
  
  


The wind rushed at him as he strode into the night. His black coat caught the fierce breeze, making a loud ripping sound-like a banner when caught by the gust of a sudden gale. Spray was carried on the wind, tickling his bare skin with droplets from the writhing ocean. The dew-like substance powdered his tawny hair with myriad watery beads, and the Lion shook his head swiftly to clear the soft strands.   
  
  
  


Approaching the grave of his koi, Trowa became suddenly aware of the metallic cold sensation of the flute in his right hand. Standing before the headstone he beheld it-cold, lifeless- a tube of metal with holes scientifically placed by some calculating mind, worthless and empty, until the sweet sound of music flowed out by the carefully controlled breaths of a musician outpouring his soul into a cruel world.   
  
  
  


And for some reason, the people listened to the fool.   
  
  
  


Like a jester, the mime lifted the flute to his lips, admiring the gentle elegance of his long fingers ... Fingers that had inflicted so much pain. But that was nothing compared to the flute. It was so simple, and yet ... Could be so complex. Breathing in, he flooded his nostrils with the fresh smell of life.   
  
  
  


/This ... This improvisation. It is my Magnum Opus ... For you, Quatre./   
  
  
  


With that thought he began to play, his heart and soul floating into the melancholy tune. He fingers found melodies he and Quatre had played togther, and with that created melodies all its own to tell the story of their love. It seemed all at once that Time had slipped away, and all that was left of the world was the Lion, his flute, the song ... and the thoughts and memories of a pure and unselfish love floating from the depths of the soul up to the Heavens in a pleading voice. If any of the gods of any times had any sympathy for the plight of Man, the prayer of that mellifluous voice would have moved them to commit any act.   
  
  
  


But at the moment they were deaf ... Or mute-mimed like the clown and his silver flute.   
  
  
  


And as the last note faded into the sky, the emerald eyed man realized that the Aurora was spreading rose and teal sprites across the sky to dance in the early morning night. And it seemed befitting ... A peaceful and natural way to end this ... this pain. To leave it hear on Death's doorstep.   
  
  
  


For a moment, Trowa gazed, watching the dancing colors fade with the song that had come so willingly to his lips. He sighed, and it seemed for all the world that his surroundings sighed with him ... The wind, the sea ... even the sky.   
  
  
  


Then the silence cracked. Like a broken glass, the magic was broken. However, when the Latin glanced around to see what had broken his solitude, all he spied was the flash of phantom white, disappearing over the headland like a mirage or spirit.   
  
  
  


He wondered briefly if it were Quatre, but shoed the foolery away. Ghosts like Quatre did not return. They went onward to a better place.   
  
  
  


Wearily, the youth rubbed his eyes. "This is good-bye, beloved Quatre ... At least for now. I cannot love you again until this hate inside me is gone. Life wills me ... Somewhere ... One day, someday ... I'll come back. I promise I'll come back here!" He cried to the sky, cehst heving with his silent sobs. He regained his breath, his composure. The sob still tickled his throat as he walked heavily away.   
  
  
  


But he left his chained soul behind at Quatre Winner's grave. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Wings of Love Part VII 7/? (3x4, 4x3)**   
  


Disclaimor: Gavin is back. He is mine. Quatre is not.   
  


Gavin had disappeared for a while by this time, and then come back, and disappeared once again. He was like some angel or god who could come and go at will. He was gone now, which gave the weary soul some much needed time to absorb the effects and surreal reality of their timeless journey in this forsaken place. It was a lot to absorb.   
  


They had left the Moors of the dead behind them long ago. While he had walked it, the great expanse of flatness seemed neverending. But then the bleak landscape had faded to crumbled mountains and forlorn peaks. He missed the moors now-yearned for the mist that buried the sadness that was evident in every inorganic line of this dread world. The mist kept it hidden and thus enclosed his heart with a numbness. Now all was sadness. Then there was the smell. It was still stale-as lifeless as the surroundings. Yet, it should have changed when he entered the mountains. The air should be thin and crisp, as he remembered it in life.   
  


And then it hit him. He wasn't breathing.   
  


It took a moment for the shock to absorb, but little-by-little the idea clicked into place. The whole concept was sensible, after all. A spirit had no need to breath. It survived without air or food or water-or any material substance for that matter. However, a deeper sense of hopelessness had sunk into place. It seemed to him that he had been robbed of another sense- no taste, no smell, no touch-but for memories and foreign or forgotten inner rushes and chills. All he was truly left with was his hearing and sight.   
  


/Will that fade too?/ It seemed everything else had.   
  


Quatre shifted his position on his boulder-perch. It was becoming uncomfortable, if that were even possible... Or maybe he was just trying to remember pain and discomfort, his mind playing tricks on him, all to make him feel something-/anything/.   
  


But there was nothing: Infinite and extroadinary nothing. Any touch was imagined. It was a miracle that he could even stand or walk-or sit at all.   
  


Blue-green eyes scouted the landscape like a hawk, the irises locked within the turbid depths trying desperately to find some sign of motion. Where was Gavin? It seemed that he had been sitting upon that stone waiting for and eternity.   
  


Maybe he had. He didn't have a watch, and the sun never rose. There was nothing in this world with which to tell Time by. Maybe by now Trowa was dead, trying to find his way to Quatre- or worse, he had forgotten him altogether. Tears pricked his eyes.   
  


/I shouldn't think such things/, he scolded.   
  


The lonely spirit shuddered. His back was sore. How, he didn't know. It just was. He stretched, trying to relieve it or pinpoint it. The motion only succeeded in making it feel worse. The blonde would have called it an inner pain, but there was no inner to pain. What was worse, the soreness came from two separate places near his shoulder blades.   
  


He wished Gavin would return.   
  


A sigh escaped the slight frame. They had stopped here what seemed like a lifetime ago, but that lazy object of Time had already been pondered. Why had he been left here all alone, anyway?   
  


///   
  


The frail boy stood before him, holding up a tiny hand to detain the spirit. Quatre could see determination radiating from the pallid face, while the boys wide, dark eyes stared uot blank, eyes so dilated that they appeared to be black: /Like Wu-fei's/ he mused. And image of the Chinese youth danced briefly before his eyes and then faded.   
  


_ *Chang Wu-fei, pilot 05 of Nataku ...* _ What did the thoughts mean.   
  


"I have to go," stated the boy, breaking into his concentration. Gavin's eyes narrowed, suddenly resembling another image familiar to him. The name echoed in his head. Heero Yuy-yes, the Heart of the Universe.   
  


_ *Pilot 01 of Wing Gundam and Wing Gundam 0 ...* _Pieces ... Patches.   
  


This boy, this fragile boy was like Heero? /_The Soul of the Universe?_/ Yes. Somewhere deep inside him, the Lamb could feel the soul of this boy reverbing through the whole world in syncopation, the vibration filling his own being with a magnanimous feeling of oneness. ****/ He's like the Phoenix/ He didn't know why he felt that, but somehow it was true. The boy was somehow cyclic. How many times had he risen from his own ashes to face the blood -red rising sun? Was he some great hero reborn in a time when the world most needed him ... Or just what he is, a boy ... A mere thread in the great tapestry of Time and Destiny ... A link in the great Eternity Circle ... The Chain binding Life to Death and Death to Life.   
  


*_Phoenix ... Azrael ... Shinigami ...*_   
  


Duo! Violet eyes and omnipresent smile filled his view as a few more pieces fell into place.   
  


*_Duo Maxwell, pilot 02 of the Deathscythe and Deathscythe Hell ...*_   
  


He had called himself Shinigami, the God of Death. Did he see Gavin in his dreams?   
  


"Stay here." The boy's voice had choked off his thoughts yet again. "There are bad things out there. Things that can hurt you ..."   
  


Confusion set upon the Arab again. "What do you mean? I'm dead." His question faded at his lips as the look in those hazy eyes changed. They contained a note of fear and worry. /I know something you don't know/ came their voice. Those eyes, those multi-colored orbs- They were so haunting; solemn, omniscient, and deep, throwing echoes of enigmas like some forgotten ocean or the infinite spiral of Outer Space. 

//   
  


It had been aeons ago to him. It had been to the rest fo the world, right? Well, he was alone now. If he could, he'd make use of the time. /I wish I had a watch/ he thought again, though he figured that it wouldn't work anyway. It wouldn't stay on his wrist come to think of it. A numb pain seeped into him. It was his back again ...   
  


He pushed it from his mind. Ignoring the pain he flitted through his shattered memories, conjuring up the soothing images of life. Trowa Barton ... Nanashi ... tawny hair, eyes like emeralds ... Lith and strong as a Lion ... the Lion that was in his soul. He found the image and clung to it.   
  


/Mine/ he thought.   
  


*CRUNCH* The sound took the golden haired boy by surprise and he tumbled off his lofty perch with another crunching sound. The shock took him by surprise. If he was indeed incorporeal matter, how then did the ground stop him? A spiritual barrier? Dazed and confused he lay on the rocky ground, staring up at the never-changing, hazed-grey sky.   
  


The figure that had made the crunching sound stepped over him, casting a muted shadow in his face. However, he immediately recognised the tell-tale spider-silk mop that cloaked and designated Gavin's face. He really did look like Azrael from that position, shadowed features and black garments giving way to ghost pale skin and snow white hair. He was the perfect visage of Death.   
  


"Are you alright?" the boy questioned. His voice quivered, like the fading plunck of a harp string. The angel-boy's lips were parted with worry, the pearls within clenched tightly together. Nostrils flared in a worrying way, not unlike the Unicorn surrounded by sinful and lusty Hunters. And out of his head gazed those dreadfully dark, swirling, amethyst-emerald eyes, whites showing wildly- Trapped and all to aware of the coveted horn on his brow.   
  


"I'm fine, Gavin."   
  


At those words, the tension in the boy vanished in an instant. Gavin truly and deeply cared about Quatre and his promise. He wished now, as when he had first met the boy, that Trowa knew him.   
  


But he had to get to Trowa to introduce them. "What now?"   
  


"We finish crossing the Mountains. The Ocean isn't far now. After the Mountains, the walking is easy."   
  


That implied that something would be waiting ... Something far more dangerous. "What's there?"   
  


The child shook off the question and started walking away, forcing the other to follow him in silence. Heero Yuy ... The name echoed blatantly in his mind again. Who /was/ Heero Yuy? There were so many gaps in his memory. Now he knew what amnesia must have been like for Trowa. Amnesia? Where had that come from? He thought about it. Trowa had no past either ... Nanashi-No Name. Quatre fished around in his brain. No past whatsoever. He wondered ...   
  


"So where do you come from?" he asked the boy.   
  


"Earth." It was obvious from his tone of voice that the death-child wasn't very fond of his home, wherever it was. However, he was curious to find out more about Quatre's origin and asked the same plain question fo the spirit.   
  


"Outer Space ... a colony, I think. There-there are too many holes where memories should be," the blonde stumbled. He stopped and thought, brows knitting deep into his skull. "I ... I hated war. I know that. But for some reason, I fought."   
  


//War brings sorrow, but we must fight to protect the ones we love from sorrow.//   
  


"I know what war does," answered Gavin. "I'll never fight. Battles make dead people and dead people come here." An unseen wind caught the boy's hair as his small fist clenched and unclenched in distress. He hated what he saw in this place.   
  


//Bury all hope ye who enter here//   
  


Quatre walked on in silence for a moment, thinking on what the boy had said. In a way, it was a simple truth, but- "What if you let someone live, but in living they would cause other people to suffer, and more to perish? Others would be destroyed because /one/ man lived." The Arab didn't know what had prompted the question. It had just escaped him, like Fate had taken her boney fingers and molded the words at his lips.   
  


"It's still wrong," the boy replied hurriedly.   
  


"It's just as wrong to let him live."   
  


At that, the boy sunk into reticence. The statement had left its mark, like a brand or a whiplash- And the idea compounded all the questions he had ever wondered about Right and Wrong into one.   
  


"Why?" he finally asked.   
  


"Because sometimes one wrong is worse than another."   
  


The journeyed in silence for a long time after that. Quatre glanced over now and again, but the somber, little boy stared straight ahead, ignoring the Lamb altogether. Inwardly, the soul sighed again. Despite this young mortal's apparant loss of innocence, he still clung to the contradictory and unforgiving Black and White ideas that in reality could never exist- Never /did/ exist. Who was /he/ to introduce him to shades of grey.   
  


Someone had to.   
  


He looked at the boy again, observing the downward slant of his vision, slightly slumped shoulders, and hands buried in his pockets. Seeing him in this light Quatre came upon an epiphany. Gavin's soul knew, and had known for a long time-but his confused child-mind refused to believe it was true and wanted desperately to believe it was a lie.   
  


But the child didn't know what to believe, and now neither did Quatre. His faith was shaken at the foundation when he arrived here. According to that faith he should be in Paradise. The Lamb looked at the crumpled, neutral rock around him. This certainly wasn't Paradise.   
  


"I'm Welsh," the boy finally said, answering a question that Quatre had forgotten he had asked. "I'm Welsh, but I was born in the United States. I've never been to Outer Space."   
  


Quatre felt the tension dissipate. The boy had accepted, and moved on. "It's different, Gavin. There are lots of machines there."   
  


"Machines are alright." Gavin smiled, still ghostly in appearance.   
  


"Bet you prefer hiking."   
  


The smile became a genuine grin. It was amazing how that simple expression lightened a formerly solemn and unearthly face. "Yeah. Nature's not touched by people ... Not spoiled by hate."   
  


"No ..." Quatre paused, trying to sniff the air again. If he couldn't breath, how could he talk anyway. He tried again-Nothing. "What's it smell like?"   
  


The child shrugged, drawing in a deep breath. "Dunno."   
  


"I can't smell."   
  


"I know, its not fair."   
  


"Hmm ..." The pain was back. Quatre wrapped his arms around to his back to try and rub out the pain. Fingers shrunk back, however, when they discovered two lumps near his shoulder blades.   
  


Gavin stopped, turning to face the mystified spirit once again. Dilated eyes pierced through him with a strange, vacant depth. Quatre felt himself falling into the murky, twilight fathoms, floundering in the rapids of a confused and enigmatic mind. In this state of mind he found himself involuntarily leaning forward, barely balanced in front of the boy.   
  


"Careful, you'll fall again."   
  


The Arab started back, eyes reforming on the whole death-pale face. He wondered if the boy burnt in the sun. Did he even venture outside?   
  


The young boy glanced at where Quatre's arms were still wrapped around his 'body'. The willowy form stepped around the spirit and reached up to remove the clasped hands, arching his feet to stand on tiptoes and reach him. Tiny hands grabbed much largere and elegant ones, trying gently to get him to let go.   
  


Quatre literally jumped three feet in the air at the slight touch of the mortal boy. A strange sensation ran through his being, rushing up and down his spine like electricity. Gavin had touched him! He was only a spirit, but this mortal had touched him. It was a shocking feeling, but welcome too. What powers were endowed upon him to allow this touch? What all could this Azrael-boy do? The questions faded as the warmness in his soul spread. Perhaps there was some hope for him. Soft, gentle hadns had him in their care.   
  


/I will return to you, Trowa/ he thought. /I can. I will. I-/   
  


"You okay? I didn't mean to scare you."   
  


Quatre nodded, pulling himself back together. "I would have expected you to go through me."   
  


"I ..." his voice faded. "That's what happens with most. It's a really strange feeling. You don't want it to happen."   
  


The blonde looked perplexed. "Why don't you go through me?"   
  


"I kind of focus on my soul, and then I can touch you- Like I'm dead too." The boy behind him stood quiet for a moment, examining the bare, lurid back of the ghost. He seemed so solid in that moment, standing with the child running his hands over the alabaster back. With his near black orbs he spied that which he had been looking for: two small lumps in the skin, placed one on each shoulder blade. The child dropped his hands, satisfied.   
  


"Your back hurts," he said. It was an obvious statement, but in that voice came a hidden sentiment of sympathy.   
  


Quatre nodded and shrugged, trying again to relieve this strange and foreign pain. The boy tiptoed back up and started rubbing, guided by more mature hands that neither could see. It was meant purely as a kind gesture to a kind person and the Lamb sank back into that emotion, welcoming its brief freedom whole-heartedly.   
  


"Why does it hurt?" he questioned through the strange, soul-moving touch. /Trowa touched me like that. He always touched my soul./ His mind wandered briefly from his question, but it snapped back, voice repeating the question.   
  


The child laughed like the question was silly. "That's where your wings will go!"   
  


Quatre jumped, turning to face the child, who hadn't sensed the movement coming. White hair flew up as he ducked under his hands, expecting battery. Slowly a dazed smile spread across his face. He would make it! He would return to Trowa, keeping that promise he made a journey ago.   
  


Free, free, free! Despite the pain, he felt his soul almost lifted by that thought alone. Gavin uncoiled himself, seeing the look of rapture on the youth's face. "Free ..." the blonde whispered.   
  


The mortakl shook his head. "They aren't born yet, and they'll have to grow before they can carry you. We've still a long way to go to Janus, and dangers to face. I know you're happy, but don't be blind. There are things here who's only purpose is to rip apart souls and prevent their passage."   
  


Gloom descended again: Still bound. How long would he have to wait to see his beloved Trowa? How long? Azrael looked up, tears pricking those mortal, yet immoratal eyes. A tiny hand wound its fingers around the larger soul's, squeezing gently. Quatre looked down and smiled. "It's alright, Gavin." /I'll do anything./   
  


With wary steps the apir walked on, down the slope now. Rocks crumbled and slid precariously with each footfall. Looking down, the blonde could see a huge precipice on the right: "The Abyss", Gavin said softly. The soul shuddered and shrunk further left, almost crushing his guide. He had an innate feeling that should he fall from this mountain, he would fall forever and ever. It was like being cast into Oblivion itself, inescapable.   
  


To break the tense silence, the ghost spoke up again. "Do you lead a lot of men this way?" The voice quavered, ever wary of the Abyss to the right. Hand clenched tighter to Gavin's.   
  


The child shook his head, moonlight hair feathering elegantly around his cherubic, young face. He knitted his brows in a sorrowful, knowing frown and sighed. "Not many ever love... " He paused, tears trickling down his cheeks. "They-they all have some hate buried deep down in their soul that keeps them." He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to remember something. "There was one almost two years ago. I can't forget him."   
  


As the boy spoke, a question formed in Quatre's mind. There was something important about two years ago: A.C. 195- "Who?"   
  


The answer came as a shock.   
  


"His name was Treize Khushrenada. He knew that his death was the only way to end war and obtain true peace. The act was selfless."   
  


The blonde opened and shut his mouth, shocked.   
  


*_Treize Khushrenada, head of OZ and the Romefellar Foundation, creator of the Epyon ...*_   
  


"He told he about his life," Gavin continued. "The bad things he did, the monsters he created ... He manipulated and it was wrong, but his heart was in the right place." He took a deep breath, pausing. "Shades of grey. I guess you're right."   
  


The blonde nodded. "I knew him. Somehow ..."   
  


"He's gone now, anyway: Flying free somewhere across the Ocean. He liked me a lot- said I reminded him of five boys ... He called them Gundam Pilots. If you knew Treize, did you know them?"   
  


Several jigsaw puzzles locked into place. Quatre choked on the memories for a moment. /My dear, Sandrock .../ The images swept him away in a flurry of madness. He blew up a colony, hurt Trowa-almost destroyed him, threatened everyone around him, then fought a blond, Dorothy, with a fencing foil for the cause of peace.   
  


*_OZ, Noin, Une, Milliardo and Zechs, Mariemaia Khushrenda. Treize ...*_

_ * Heero ... Duo ... Wu-fei ... Trowa.*_   
  


"I knew them, Gav," choked out the spirit. "I was one of them." 


	8. Chapter 8

**Wings of Love Part 8/? (VIII) (3x4, 4x3)**   
  


_Two of my original characters are back. You know who they are any they are © of me. All the rest is © Sunrise, Asahi, Bandai, etc. cause Gundam Wing is sooo not mine! Warning, this is a big Mariemaia chapter!_   
  


**February 29, A.C. 197 :: 09:08**   
  


"There's something' about a leap year that makes everyone crazy," muttered Duo as he reclined in a sprawling position on a cot. The foreclosure of his scrap heap business had led the cheery brunette straight back into conflict, and back into barracks. "Once a Shinigami, always a Shinigami," he had told Lady Une upon signing in as a Preventer.   
  


Now he was back to his own strange soldier fanaticism, lying kicked back on that blasted cot hold a pickle in one relaxed, outstretched hand. Quite frankly, Trowa didn't even know why he was here. In all reality, the heart-stricken young man wanted nothing more than to avenge the death of his beloved Quatre alone ... But the Barton Followers were unfortunately a world-wide threat to peace, and he would not get his wish.   
  


Damn Fate. Who told her to butt in, anyways? His cause, along with fifty other things, had become an official Preventer battle-ground, with the clock ticking away at how many minutes or even seconds they had to stop this nonsense-- And he was the Commander, God help them all. He sighed, wishing for the old days of lonely piloting, loyal to no one but himself and those he chose to call "friend". All gone ...   
  


So many of his old colleagues had rejoined him here. It was a strange group of lovers of Quatre and followers of Quatre, not to mention those who had their own, more confusing reasons for fighting battles.   
  


Duo was of both the former group and the latter one.   
  


"Man! Look at all the people here-Maguanacs, Preventers-you'd think you were thrown' a party, Trowa!"   
  


"That's not quite the intention."   
  


"Hey, lighten up! You'd think Death were standin' at /_your_/ door!" The braided American then glanced at himself and grinned. "Okay, so I'm here, but that doesn't count!" Trowa just continued to stare at the Shinigami in a strange, vacant kind of manner. Duo scrunched up his nose and then grinned again. He was rather like a Cheshire cat. The Lion half expected him to up and start disappearing. "I got a pickle," the Raven said, holding out his prize. "You want half?"   
  


"I think I'll pass."   
  


"Suit yourself." The black clad raven then began munching his pickle happily, crunching sounds going clear across the room. Trowa turned away from him, repulsed by the casual happiness. Of course, it was only a disguise for Duo's true emotions, but the Lion found it repulsive just the same. The Shinigami was rather like a laughing hyena, and Mother Nature knew that Lions and Hyenas don't mix well.   
  


The Latin decided to turn to Sally Po instead, who had left her Preventor partner behind this round, so it seemed. That, or Wu-fei had utterly refused to join in on some idiotic idealistic crusade, but that was the Dragon's nature and it was forgivable, after all, not many people lose a wife to war at age 14.   
  


The blond woman spied him and forced her painted lips into a painted smile. "How you hanging in there, Trowa?"   
  


"I'm hanging, that's for sure."   
  


The false smile on the older woman's face faded. "I'm sorry."   
  


"It's not your fault. If I'd have been more careful he'd still be here."   
  


"Hey, if I'm not allowed to beat myself up about it then you can't either."   
  


The corner of Trowa's mouth twitched, then faded. "It's just so strange. When you've survive so much you begin to think yourself immortal ... That this can't happen ..." His voice drifted off as he stared at the wall. /_He's gone_/ he thought. /_Gone forever, and there's nothing I can do about it. Let it alone, Nanashi._/   
  


A finger poked at his shoulder and the Latin whirled around, startled. He caught his breath when he realized that it was only Lucrezia Noin, redressed in the familiar Preventor uniform.   
  


"So, you gonna let me sign in, or am I just going to stand here all day?"   
  


"Noin? Why are you here?"   
  


"Let's just say that I've got nothing left to lose either."   
  


Trowa nodded gravely. "The Maguanacs said something of the same thing."   
  


*************************************************************************   
  


**February 29, A.C. 197 :: 09:30**   
  


Lady Une's shoes tapped softly on the floor as she wheeled her red-headed charge to the class room. Mariemaia's eyes flicked nervously aorund the halls, unsure of what to think of all of this. She had never before been to school, only tutored by Barton family members and those honorable enough to come near her. The idea of public schooling was foreign, as was the idea of fellow classmates.   
  


What were other children like? She had never met one. What did she do? What could she say? The Lady said they played games and told stories. What were those? She said they learned many things here at school, like sharing and friendship along with the bookwork she had been tutored. When the small girl asked questions of her, Lady Une only told her that she was a smart girl, three years ahead of her age, and that she would figure it out.   
  


That didn't give the confused invalid much comfort. She had a strange feeling that she wasn't very likable.   
  


Slowly, the brown haired woman turned the knob to the fifth grade classroom and wheeled Mariemaia inside. At the oak desk of the young, blond teacher she stopped, and stepped back.   
  


"Thank you so much, Miss Harris. Mariemaia's all yours."   
  


The little girl stared out the door, frightened, as her "mommy" left. The door slid shut, and she heard a couple snickers from the back of the room.   
  


What was so funny? Her wheelchair?   
  


The young teacher stood up and smiled. She seemed nice. Her blond hair was braided around her head and she had bright green eyes that seemed to smile at the world like spring leaves. "Good morning, class," she stated kindly. "We have a new student today. Her name is Mariemaia Khushrenada."   
  


The snickers increased. They _/knew/_ her. They ahd seen her on T.V. She was going to take over the world. A couple students laughed. Mariemaia felt her cheeks slowly turning red. These children didn't like her. They knew all about her. They had secrets and she had none. Her worst was on vids for all the world to see.   
  


"Now, class!" shouted Miss Harris sharply. "I will not have you behaving so poorly. You are to treat her with the respect you give other new students, and I expect you all to help her adjust to the new school."   
  


The snickering stopped, but several students kept wide grins on their sinister faces.   
  


"Now, Miss Mariemaia, I'm going to put you in tis seat in the front, right beside-"   
  


The door squeaked softly open from other side of the room as a small figure tried to slip in the class late, unnoticed. Miss Harris narrowed her eyes and looked at the door. Mr. Drakon, why are you late?" The voice was sharp and unforgiving.   
  


The dark clad figure tried to shrink himself into the wall. He wasn't happy to be late and he wanted to hide himself. At his cowardly manuever the whole class burst into laughter. "Freak's at it again," snicker a boy. "Bet Taro nailed him good today," came another. Mariemaia just stared, appalled. What rudeness! Why were they acting this way.   
  


"Young man," continued Miss Harris. "I want an answer from you."   
  


"I-I-" the boy stuttered with fear. He was young for a fifth grader. That meant he probably skipped grades too. The red-head bet the older kids picked on him. She bet a bully caught him and made him late. The pale boy tilted his head and sure enough, the sharp eyed girl spotted a bruise on his left cheek.   
  


"Spit it out."   
  


"I- Iforgotmyhomeworkandfinallyhadtogobackandgetit."he finally spat out. This only caused the class to laugh even more. This time, Miss Harris didn't stop it. Maybe she wasn't so nice as she seemed.   
  


"Well, sit down and get right to work. If it happens again I'm calling your parents."   
  


The young boy nodded and slipped into the seat next to Mariemaia. She tried to make eye contact with him, but he avoided her gaze, staring down at his notebook on the table, hands curled in his lap.   
  


Mariemaia felt something hit her in the back of the head and slip down into her wheelchair. She felt around and grabbed it. Seeing it was a note, the girl opened it and peeked inside.   
  


/_Better watch out, Queenie. You're about to be dethroned._/   
  


She folded the paper very numb. They hated her. That was a threat. She glanced around to see he passed the note, but everyone was shuffling around for last nights homework. She looked back to the white haired boy. He was still staring vacantly at his desk.   
  


She decided that that was a good idea, but when she looked down there was another note. _Should I open it?/_ she thought. She might as well. For the second time in five minutes, she opened a note.   
  


_/Sorry ..._/ it said. She looked over at the boy, figuring it was from him. He shuffled his feet a little in response. Yep, it was him. She sat back in her chair and pondered ...   
  


Why did everyone hate him?   
  


***************************************************************************** 

**February 29, A.C. 197 :: 11:18**   
  


Veinte Barton was an old man, probably the age of Dakim or older. His face was hardened and tan from years of war experience in the Alliance, then OZ, then the White Fang, and onward. Now he ran the coalition to put the rightful group in charge of the E.S.U.N., which as far as he was concerned, was the Barton family.   
  


The grizzled man was moreover, a frustrated genius, whose talents were useless in peacetime endeavors. He was a soldier by nature and by breed. A military dictator, his voice boomed above the crowds in a frightening and manipulative manner. He had charisma, and at 6 foot high with barely greyed brown hair he was a masterpiece of strength and bravado for his age.   
  


All in all, Veinte Barton was a very convincing leader.   
  


The military mastermind currently sat in isolation, staring out his balcony at the colony-scape below. Pulling at his sculpted beard he pondered the foul-ups that his minions had made to allow the attack of the E.S.U.N. Preventors. Of course, he had been lucky. They had, after all, only discovered his secondary base of X-19989. He had thousands of other smaller bases spread throughout the L3 and L4 colony clusters, with not a single Preventor aware as to their existance. L3 was a bigger target than L4, that was why he had connived his way into the control of that area.   
  


The old man smirked. Yes, Mariemaia had turned out to be a clever decoy yet again, and although the murder of Quatre R. Winner had not gone smoothly, it had been carried out none-the-less. Now he had complete control of L4, and not a person on Earth would ever expect it. Of course, he would have liked to have kept his prized Mariemaia, but another capture could be arranged so easily.   
  


Besides, the Winner boy was the important knock-off. With the slipping of a few messages, he had been able to silence the Winner sisters quite easily after that.   
  


All was going as planned ... A few tangles, but no knots, and that was welcome news. No one was going to stop the Barton family this time. After all, the Gundams were long gone.   
  


A knock broke through his repose. Veinte snarled, "I said I would have NO visitors!"   
  


"It's me, sir ..." came the meek reply.   
  


A smile cracked that rigid old face. "Ah, Terrance. Come in, young man." The door cracked open and in came the mud blond grandson of Veinte. Slate grey eyes examine the old man with caution, trying to avoid the wrath of one who could easily silence him with a quick, hort blow to the head- or something more messy, but just as effective.   
  


"Sit down." The bear-like man gestured to a nearby chair, cold eyes flicking with a remote wave of kindness. The grey eyes ran in the family, however, Veinte's were more like flint- a stone of ancient warfare-rather then the cultured slate of his grandson's.   
  


The youth sat, tapping his fingers together in his lap nervously. Veinte noticed.   
  


"Don't do that, Terrance. It makes you look weak."   
  


"Yes, sir." The boy stopped, and stared his grandfather in the face. "I talked with Donaldson again. I told him to give me all the information he had gathered from his encounter with the false Trowa Barton or else. He complied and I've gathered quite a bit of extra research on him."   
  


The young man held out a manila folder, and Veinte took it grudgingly, opening it to the first page of a set of meticulously crafted notes and records. HIs grandson never slouched, when it came to information. Veinte's only regret was that the boy was not as thorough on the battlefield.   
  


"Trowa Barton has no record of his real name. For a time his worked as a mercenary, then as the real Trowa's mechanic for Operation Meteor. He was present at the death of Trowa and thus inherited his name and place in the project-operating as you know, Gundam Heavyarms. Nanashi was also known to have spent time in a travelling circus as a clown. He's rather attached to a young woman by the name of Catherine Bloom there. She's rather his adopted sister, so if push comes to shove she can be threatened."   
  


"I'm quite well aware of this basic information, Terrance. Dakim left excellent records."   
  


The youth nodded, muddy mop bobbing up and down on his slim face. "I have more interesting information." The youth paused, trying to collect himself to reveal the knowledge that could destroy this admirable pilot.   
  


"Our "Trowa Barton" was in love with Quatre Raberba Winner."   
  


Veinte smiled, brows cracking into his skull as he thought. "Now, this could proved useful," he crooned, eyes gazing up at the ceiling. "The young pilot will be seeking revenge ... It's dangerous ... He could expose the true intent of the Valentine Battle, but ... With more proper decoys he could be eliminated, and the Preventor lured out ..."   
  


His mind twisted fiendishly over the hundreds of possibilities available at this new conclusion of evidence. He could even black mail ... Homophobia was a common disorder even in these modern times. The Winner name and more could be tarnished. He could unravel all kinds of things about the "immorality" of E.S.U.N. government. Ah, he didn't enjoy thwarting a hundred vultures with one tiny pebble of truth ...   
  


Power was finally within the Barton grasp.   
  


"Terrance, you are dismissed."   
  


"Yes, sir."   
  


********************************************************************************   
  


**February 29, A.C. 197 :: 12:12**   
  


Mariemaia sat alone in her wheelchair, patent leather shoes swaying back and forth as she swung her legs. She could believe Lady Une made her go to school. This was so horrible and when it wasn't horrible, it was boring. Kids hated her- for her past, for her condition, even for being years ahead of them. So there she was, an 8 year old invalid in a wheelchair and the fifth grade. All in all, the little red-head was the perfect object for teasing.   
  


This was rather the reason she was sitting all alone, instead of playing during recess. She sighed-everyone hated her-was bigger than her. She'd had spit wads and evil notes thrown at her from the back all morning long. It was all so frustrating. /_People are pigs_/ she thought, and contemplated one day teaching them a lesson. The memory of Relena's hand flying at her face stopped the thought and she blinked back tears.   
  


"Hello ..." The young red-head started as the voice broke through her thoughts. Eyes focused in on the face. It was the late boy, the one who had been staring at his desk all day. Wide-eyes stared at her, blinking back fear and other things. Mariemaia stared, fascinated. His eyes were cool and kind of creepy! They were a neat color too!-violet with little green flecks. Green flecks like the color of Trowa-kun's eyes.   
  


An even greater thought hit her. He hadn't poked a single jibe!   
  


"Hi!" she replied, cheerily now.   
  


"Sorry they're so mean," he mumbled. The boy scuffed his feet, pulling at the tight collar of his navy blue uniform. White hair fell into his face in an untidy manner but it worked well for him. He reminded her of Heero Yuy. Heero was nice. He was going to save her. She pursed her lips for a minute, examining the boy closer. There was something odd about the boy ... Like the way he wrote with both hands, and the white hair, and the purple eyes ... And there was something else ...   
  


"They were mean to you too," she replied without thinking, still trying to figure out what else was odd about the boy.   
  


He only shrugged in reply. "I'm used to it," he said.   
  


"They call you crazy," stated the red-head. The boy shrugged again. "I think that's silly."   
  


"Maybe they're right."   
  


The blue eyed girl shook her red head. "Now you're being silly!"   
  


"Huh?" They boy blinked at her. She looked at his eyes, almost black because of the size of his pupils. They drew her in in such a strange way. She looked away, and then looked back. The boy had turned to watch the other boys playing soccer. He didn't really watch where the ball moved, he just watch the others boys, tracking with his eyes where they went.   
  


Suddenly, Mariemaia saw the ball flying their way, straight toward her new friend's face.   
  


"Hey, look out!" she cried.   
  


The boy looked around frantically, but couldn't find the ball and it hit him square in the face. Mariemaia quirked her eyebrows. He had been staring right at the ball! Well, sort of ...   
  


"Are you okay?" She asked.   
  


A classmate ran up to retrieve the ball. "Nice going, smarty!" he sneered.   
  


Mariemaia proceeded to stick her tongue out at him as he ran off with the ball. "Rude dude!" she spat and then giggled at the rhyme.   
  


The boy just stared out at the game again, watching the people run foolishly around the field. "I'm okay," he mumbled numbly.   
  


The red-headed invalid sat and thought a minute, trying to put together all the things she had noticed today. Finally, the pieces fit.   
  


"You're blind," she said matter-of-factly. The white-haired child jumped to look at her. "How do you see the players?"   
  


"How did you know I was blind? Nobody knows!"   
  


Mariemaia quirked again. How could nobody know he was blind. Maybe it was too obvious, or maybe she just noticed things like that ... But blindness was an obvious disorder ... Then again, he still wrote and he didn't read Braille.   
  


She shrugged. "You took forever to write when you wrote today and you never dodged any spitballs. They hit you, just like the ball did when you were staring it straight in the face. I know you're not stupid, so that has to be the reason." She paused. "But that doesn't tell me how you see me, 'cause I know you do."   
  


The boy sat down, feeling the cool brick of the building through his jacket. She was an observant child, but even his teachers-even his dad didn't know. He could write, but it required concentration. However, he could never follow moving objects with his mind, at least non-living ones. He wasn't good enough. How his mind found letters even he didn't know. Maybe some spirit secretly told him.   
  


"How do you see me?" the girl repeated.   
  


The boy started again and stared at the red-head. "I'm afraid to tell you ..." he whispered. "You'll call me crazy."   
  


"I won't, or I would have done it already. You can't scare me. Really, people have died in front of me, and I've been shot." She gestured to the wheelchair. She paused. "People have even died for me ... Try me."   
  


The boy took a deep breath. This girl wouldn't take no for an answer. Maybe, just maybe ... "What's your name?" he asked, conveniently changing the subject.   
  


It threw the red-head off, at least for the moment.   
  


"My name is Mariemaia Khushrenada, daughter of Tr-" she clasped her hand over her mouth, realizing she was falling into an old arrogant routine.   
  


"You're Mariemaia?" The boy tried to smile.   
  


The girl nodded, pale hand still covering her mouth.   
  


"It's okay. Dakim Barton drowned that into you. I'm Gavin- Gavin Drakon." He held out his hand and Mariemaia took it and shook it, noting with casual interest the Gavin shook with his left hand-even though he mostly wrote with his write. She remembered him switching pencil hands in class and then figured he was ambidextrous.   
  


"Nice to meet you!" said the girl, smiling.   
  


"Likewise." He let loose his hand, brows knitting together. "Can I tell you a secret?"   
  


"Sure, noone's ever told me a secret before ... I've-never had a friend."   
  


The boy's eyes popped open in surprise, but they soon faded back to normal. "You want to know how I see you?"   
  


She nodded.   
  


"You know that thing the scientists call Life Aura? Well, I see it. I can see plants and some rocks. Animals and people are clearer. I see their spirits- I see the real person."   
  


"So you know me ... better than me." She paused, thinking about the kids calling him crazy. "You see ghosts, too. You talk to them." Mariemaia's observant nature had payed off again.   
  


The boy nodded, "And worse."   
  


"Cool!"   
  


"Come one, aren't you going to say I'm crazy?"   
  


The red-headed child shook her head.   
  


"But you can't prove that I see them."   
  


"I can't prove you don't. You're blind, but you see me. I believe you."   
  


"Really?" The voice was hopeful.   
  


"Really." Mariemaia sat and thought for a moment. Gavin sees dead people. He talks to them. What if ...   
  


"I have a friend of mine who died. His name was Quatre R. Winner. Have you talked to him?"   
  


The boy's mouth dropped open in shock.   
  


TBC. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Wings of Love Part 9/? (IX) (3x4, 4x3)**   
  


Disclaimer:   
  


Quatre and Gundam Wing are not mine. If you don't know that Gavin is © me yet, then ... I won't say.   
  


*****************************************************************************   
  


"Her name was Mariemaia ..." The little boy's voice faded as he said the last word. The two, ghost and boy, had finished crossing the Mountains and were now resting at the foothills leading to the Ocean. Gavin had just returned with the news of his friend.   
  


"Mariemaia ... So, you return to the world of the living when you leave?"   
  


"I have to. I have school." He stated the answer as though the question was one of the silliest ones he had ever heard.   
  


Quatre looked about confused and then remembered. "Oh, of coarse." Delicate lips lifted into a smile. Gavin couldn't help but grin too, his smile was like sunshine. It made him feel fuzzy inside.   
  


"She said to say hi."   
  


Blond eyebrows quirked in an attempt to remember. Mariemaia ... The first memory. He stopped, not wanting to see all of those pre-death visions anymore. They were depressing, and frightening.   
  


//_Q-chan.//_ he remembered. She had called him Q-chan.   
  


"Tell her I miss her ..." /_Tell her I miss Trowa/_he almost wanted to say, but no. He couldn't do it. Trowa would consider the idea of talking to spirits crazy at best. At least ... At least he would send the child to a mental institute. No, Heero would do that, come to think of it. Trowa would rather ignore.   
  


The hazy spirit sat back and sighed.   
  


"You miss him again."   
  


The Arab nodded. "I wish he were ... Well, no I don't wish he were here. I wish /I/ was there."   
  


"I know you do." Gavin watched his friend a moment, thinking about yesterday. Mariemaia had discovered his blindness and they had talked a good while about it. This got him to thinking ...   
  


"What is color like?" His voice quavered, waiting for the spirit to jump back in alarm or be confused or hate him for it. Instead the spirit just shifted his position and thought a moment.   
  


"Its hard to explain," he finally said. Oceany eyes stared widely at the child, confused at the question. They wanted an answer, but were afraid to ask. He didn't want his young guide to leave him. He was the only friend he had in this desolate place. "Are you color blind."   
  


The child shook his head, staring at those eyes. That was color, right? He could see the color of eyes. He could see strange colors beyond those eyes, colors no one but him could see.   
  


A sigh escaped him. In exchange, he forfeited the colors that everyone else saw from black-gray-white, muted halftones and empty canvases filled with phantasms that made him appear crazy. Why did he have to see this stuff? Why did no one else? No one believed him at all when he tried to tell them. No one except Mariemaia ... And the dead people.   
  


Not-to-mention the other beings that haunted his daily existence. Where were all the angels, anyway? Someone had once told him that there were angels. If there were such benevolent spiritual beings he had never once seen one. Not in this world or on Earth.   
  


"I'm blind, blind," the boy finally stated. "I only see spirits, Aura, and anything else that's not material or "real"."   
  


Quatre nodded. "Guess its like me not being able to smell."   
  


"Guess so."   
  


There was silence for a moment, while the boy picked at a few loose pebbles on the ground. He could see this world, mostly. It was a "non-real" place. He turned his eyes to watch Quatre. Yes, he had figured that out. Gavin continued to stare as the spirit picked up a stone and held it confusedly in his hand. He obviously didn't understand why he could carry it ... He probably didn't know how anything worked. Fist clenched on the rock in desperation and just as he looked as though he were about to chuck it away, the child spoke again.   
  


"It's the same reason I can see it."   
  


Anger and desperation faded away and the pebble was dropped back to the ground. However, there was still some tension to the air- like malevolence crackling with a barely noticeable static force.   
  


Something was wrong.   
  


"Quatre we need to get out of here."   
  


"What?"   
  


The boy grabbed the spirit's hand and dragged him up. "We just need to get out of here. You don't want _/them/_ to find us."   
  


"Them? Who's-" The Arab looked up into the air. Two specks in the sky were growing closer even as they spoke.   
  


"Run! They'll kill you!" said the boy, starting to drag Quatre forward.   
  


The blond picked up his worn feet and began running, confused and startled behind the boy. "What do you mean? I'm already dead!" he shouted.   
  


The white haired boy stopped and looked at the spirit, eyes filled with fear and determination and bravado all at the same time. "Do you want to be Oblivion? Do you want to be nothing? Do want to break your promise? These things can /_destroy/ _you-Destroy you so you'll never think, feel, or be again! I don't think you want that!"   
  


A cold wind rushed through Quatre's being.   
  


***Stay here ... There are bad things out there. Things that can hurt you ...***   
  


That was what he meant. Things that could obliterate him.   
  


"No!" he shouted, running as though all the beasts of Hell were out to get him and take him the the Devil himself. They would not get him. He was going to return to Trowa. No beast would stop him-he had to do it. They would not tear him apart. He would survive, in the spiritual sense, and he would return.   
  


The blond looked back probably knowing that it was a bad idea. He was right. Large humanoid creatures pursued them in force. There were six of them, with large leathery wings and black staring eyes. Their skin was red and scarred, like a boiled crab's- And each hand and foot had a set of five black, sharp, bloody claws ready to tear the innocent spirit to pieces. He daren't think of what their teeth would look like.   
  


What was worse, they were getting closer.   
  


"They're gaining!" he shouted, trying to keep up with the lithe boy before him. However, Quatre wasn't near as nimble, and his foot caught upon a stone and the youth began tumbling down the gentle slope of the hill.   
  


"Gavin!!!" he yelled, unaware of what to do- afraid for his soul, the only thing he had left. The world passed by in a blur. He saw the black legs of Gavin go by. The child had stopped and was facing the beasts. But that vision was soon replaced by more swirling gray and black and white.   
  


*THUD* His body hit the bottom of the hill and crashed there flattened. He didn't know whether to move or run again-but even if he did run, without Gavin he didn't know where to go. Was the boy alright? Had they gotten him? Could they get him with his flesh or was he more dangerous because of it? Quatre didn't know. He was scared, alone, and confused with tattered memories and a bunch of demonic monsters trying to be rid of him for good. It was at that moment he decided that he quite preferred being alive to being dead and rather wished he would wake up from the horrible nightmare.   
  


But he wasn't waking up ... It was real.   
  


Fearful aqua eyes finally gained the courage to look up the hill, only to be taken aback at what they saw. The tiny, fragile boy was fighting the giant winged Daemons. He had some sort of sword in his hand, a sword that appeared to radiate darkness as if it were light. As he watch in a kind of half daze he saw out the corner of his eye another spirit appear behind him. In his daze he could see so clearly what appeared to be an angel fighting behind the boy.   
  


Strong pale hands, gripped the smaller ones and guided the sword, while great and powerful black downy wings protected him from attack. His hair was white, like Gavin's, and had the same iridescent quality. The being seemed to radiate light and darkness all at once, as if he were neither Good nor Evil- like Humanity.   
  


**//Do not be afraid\\**   
  


And then it was gone, with the Daemons and all their evil. With the fading of the image, so the memory too soon faded, leaving the whisper of a childhood song left in his head:   
  


***Soon, soon, you shall forget*** 

***Hour upon hour turns frolic to fret*** 

***Follow the wind song, soon will it end*** 

***Visions and lullabyes, lost in the glen.***   
  


All that was left was the vague knowledge of a dream, and that the being was Azrael ... Some part of the boy, but then that too faded away like the wind.   
  


The boy tread down the hill, pushing the white hair from his face in order to see Quatre better. The sword was gone, as if it had never been.   
  


"Are you alright, Quatre?" The spirit nodded, letting the pieces of melody and riddles slide away into the back of his mind to disappear. "There are worse than those."   
  


Quatre didn't question, he only sat and sighed.   
  


"I'm sorry, but I tried to warn you. They scare me too, but I've learned that the bigger ones are near so scary as the small ones. The tiny ones sneak into your mind and you never know that they're there. They're the kind that hurts the living-that makes them crazy or depressed. They slowly eat away at a soul until it doesn't exist anymore, or is so tattered it can't survive alone and floats away."   
  


"How ... horrible ..." Quatre didn't know what to think of that. He knew people, good people who suffered like that. Were they dying inside and just didn't know it? 

"We should go," said Gavin, softly. "The sooner we get to the Ocean, the safer I'll feel."   
  


The blond pushed up on his arms as if to stand but feel as a pain shot through his shoulders and back. He yelped and put and hand to his back, feeling a sticky liquid running down his lurid back. He was bleeding? How? Was it from those bumps on his back?   
  


Quatre pulled his hand away and stared at it. The liquid was indeed crimson. It was blood. "I-I'm dead," he stuttered. "How can I bleed?"   
  


"Souls bleed too," said Gavin gentley, grabbing the bond head and holding it while Quatre fought not to let tears run down his face. The aqua eyes watered with pain as he stared at the pale face. Gavin stared, and they screamed /_Why is this happening to me?_/   
  


"It's okay, Q-chan," he said, trying to comfort him with the old name. "That's just your wings."   
  


"Why does it hurt so much? I though wings were good ..." The voice faded off as he started to cry a little. He had thought all the pain was gone, but no- it was here smacking him in the face again. Pain-anguish-he had left Trowa. He had-   
  


"Shhh. It's okay. They have to hurt. Skin doesn't stretch so good. So they grow like teeth. Its okay, shhh. Its okay."   
  


The comparison to teething was a good way to describe it, considered the sobbing spirit. It hurt and there wasn't ice to numb it. However, its a lot harder for something to break through skin than gum, and wings would naturally be bigger than teeth.   
  


The little boy carefully lay the Arab on the ground so he would hurt himself. Gently, he began rubbing around his back with his delicate fingers, trying to find some way to aleviate the pain that the spirit was now feeling. He knew that the two broken lumps were now tender, but sometimes wings just didn't want to come through all the way on their own.   
  


/_Poor guy. Running must have broken them early._/ His nose scrunched up a little, trying to keep himself from crying. Why, oh, why was he an empath?   
  


Carefully, delicately the little hands pulled at the broken skin, however gentleness didn't help the pain much and it only caused his friend to get even more frightened.   
  


"Quatre, I have to do this. They're stuck inside, and it will hurt less if I help it."   
  


The spirit sniffed. "What are you doing?"   
  


"Uncurling them out, so they don't take forever to do it on their own. It will hurt more if I leave it alone."   
  


The soul began to control himself as the boy worked to free the tiny pinions. When he was satisfied he'd completely removed all the tiny edges of the wings he stopped, and let Quatre sob the rest of his fear away. It was odd that the spirits always seemed to be more of children than Gavin when it came to pain. However, souls' pain was the worst, like its pleasure was the most wonderful feeling in the universe.   
  


The boy took out a Kleenex and tried wiping off the blood from the Arab's back. It helped, but the fresh wounds were still bleeding and needed help stopping. He finally resorted to pulling out a couple old hankies from his pocket, and wrapped them around the edge of the tiny wings. His back looked much better than way, and the pinions were so cute, barely covered with any down at all.   
  


"They're tiny, aren't they. How am I supposed to get back if my wings are tiny?"   
  


"They have to grow. It takes awhile, so I really can't change that."   
  


"Will it hurt when they grow?"   
  


"It only hurts when they sprout. After they heal, the wings grow just fine. The worst of that's over."   
  


The spirit breathed a sigh of relief. At least all he had left to do was wait. And journey. He guessed that the journeying part was far from over.   
  


"We should go, right?"   
  


The boy nodded. With a gentle push, Quatre was back on his feet and ready to walk again. He shuddered at the pain only a minute, then turned his focus to the horizon. Something was glinting out there-just out of reach.   
  


"Hey, Gav, what's that?" He asked pointing.   
  


Gavin looked and smiled. "That? That's the Ocean. Come on, we're almost there!"   
  


***************************************************************************   
  


The beach at the edge of the Ocean had an entirely different feel than the rest of the Underworld. There was a sort of hopefulness there that hadn't existed anywhere else.   
  


***You've gotten this far*** the waves seemed to whisper.   
  


The whole thing was rather awe-inspiring to the Lamb, who by now could flutter his tiny wings happily. Gavin noted that fact and giggled. Wings gave away so much about a person's mood, especially when the person didn't know how to control them. It often seemed like the wings had a mind of their own. Thankfully, Quatre's wings had decided to begin fluttering after the wound had healed. Sometimes they didn't, and that could really hurt the soul.   
  


"Come on, Quatre. We have to get to the Dock."   
  


The blond nodded and near started skipping after his guide. The child just looked back and began laughing even more, strange eyes sparkling with a glimpse of true pure joy.   
  


"There isn't anything in the water, is there?" questioned the happy angel.   
  


"Nope. Not by the shore. Maybe in the deep, but you don't go swimming there."   
  


"Okay!" he said, and ran into the waves, laughing as he went. Water spurted up about his beaming form as he splashed and played. Gavin continued to laugh, comparing his regressed friend to a baby duck that had climbed into a puddle for the first time. It looked so fun ...   
  


The child couldn't stand it anymore. He wanted to play too, and followed Quatre into the water. There at the edge of the wide expanse of sapphire water, the first color Quatre had seen since Gavin, they splashed and chattered like a couple of young dolphins. Quatre wondered if he'd ever had so much fun in his life. Trowa never did things like this ... Maybe if they'd had someone around like Gavin, maybe ...   
  


Thoroughly soaked, the pair got out of the Ocean, leaving play for a later time. On the beach again, Gavin emptied his black shoes of all the salt water, hoping that the little event wouldn't have ruined them. His starched black collar now hung loose around his neck, and the black jacket and pants hung off his skinny frame like wet fall leaves to a spindly tree in near winter.   
  


Still giggling with joy and hope, Quatre attempted to cartwheel, falling flat on his pale face. Gavin finished replacing his shoes and walked over to help Quatre up.   
  


"We should go," he giggled, putting out his hand for the bazillionth time during this journey. The spirit just laughed and stood, following the white-haired boy once again.   
  


The joy didn't fade as time went along. There were so many different feelings and emotions in this place. The sand between his toes was soft and felt almost like sand from real beaches, only they had a soft cloud-like quality. He knew that if he could touch a cloud, the sand of this beach and the water of the ocean would be exactly what one felt like- well, maybe less wet and grainy, but that would indeed be the feeling.   
  


Too soon the duo came upon the bleached wood frame of the Dock. It was an ancient structure, constantly worn away by salt and tides. From their vantage point at the bottom of the steps, they could make out much of the gray wood Dock, and the shadow of someone waiting for them.   
  


Gavin took a step forward, onto the first stair. "Charon ..." he said, voice dying off slowly as he sought to recognise the Keeper of the Dock.   
  


The figure put a foot forward and then stopped. "It's I. Come up here, you, and bring you're friend with you." His voice was kind, if melancholy- a pleasant treat from the attack that was now likely days ago. The boy nudged Quatre forward, wakling him up to the plank boardwalk at the top of the Dock.   
  


"His name is Quatre Raberba Winner. He has wings. I knew he'd get them."   
  


The weathered man nodded. Now that they were closer, his features were far more apparent, but it seemed that Charon had the same melancholy gray features as the Dock and the rest of the Underworld. His face was lined with fine crevices and tiny wrinkles. His hair and eyebrows grey and sparse, like the landscape of the Moors, but his eyes ...   
  


His eyes were living, breathing ... Through all that hopelessness and empty void there was this spark in those sunken eyes. Hope-it breathed the world with its sapphire Ocean-like appearance. Kindess flooded the shrunken man, even though hopelessness had bent his spine down hundreds, maybe thousands of years ago.   
  


"You need across the Ocean, young man?" The statement was barely a question. He knew what Quatre was seeking-could see right into his soul like Gavin. The spirit's nod was irrelevant. "I think the Boat will hold you. Come with me."   
  


The man gestured, and Quatre started to follow, but stopped when he saw that Gavin was staying behind. A questioning look appeared on the blond's face.   
  


"I can't go," said Gavin. "My journey ends here."   
  


Sadness bubbled up inside Quatre. What did he mean he could go? He had to go. He wasn't about to make this journey by himself.   
  


Charon looked at both spirit and boy with doleful sympathy. A bony hand grasped the boy on the shoulder, while the other lifted his face up to look at him.   
  


"You come this time," he said.   
  


Eyebrows raised in confusion, head still held by strong old hands.   
  


"Listen-Listen, Azrael," whispered the old man. "Can you here them? Can you hear the angels?"   
  


The boy paused and tried to hear, but emptiness filled his ears.   
  


"I don't hear anything."   
  


"Listen. They call you, boy. They're waiting ... This time, this time see ... This time know. Listen." 

Quatre saw the boy straining to hear, knowing it was doing no good. It was like the dream like memory of Gavin fighting the Daemons ... A conscious mind can see nothing, know nothing of angels ... Only in near dreams, only in a trance ...   
  


He could hear them ... Whispering voices in song far away, fading even as he realized what the words meant-   
  


Then gone again with consciousness.   
  


"You come this time, Azrael," Charon repeated. "He needs you.   
  


"Come."   
  


TBC.   
  


**Notes:*******************************************************************   
  


1. My "daemons" in this scene are based on some from Dante's "Inferno". Read it, it's good classic literature that's very inspiring, not to mention cool.   
  


2. The song lines are from "Wind in the Willows"(not mine) and may be paraphrased. I want to do a songfic based on that but can't, because I don't know all the words.   
  


3. The world of the dead has had a lot of basis in **The Amber Spyglass** by Philip Pullman. Its part of a larger trilogy. Anyways, that's wear all the desoloation and gray comes from. I took the idea in a completely different diretion than him though (especially considering the daemons and wings and stuff) I beg you to read the **His dark Materials** trilogy if you haven't. Its an ingenious work which actually has a yaoi couple, two angels called Baruch and Balthamos.   
  


4. Charon is the ferryman of the dead in the Greek Underworld, in case you were wondering. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Wings of Love Part X (10) (3x4, 4x3)**   
  


_Disclaimor: Gundam Wing is © Sunrise. Gavin is © me (Kasage) 2001._   
  


**March 3rd, AC 197 :: 01:39**   
  


Trowa writhed in his sleep, trapped in the same realistic nightmare that he fought with every night. Every night he was surrounded by this strange feeling of pain, hate, and depression that followed him into the next day. Sometimes he swore he saw a thousand undulating creatures, chewing upon him in his dreams, seeking to destroy him with their teeth and sometimes claws. Most of the time, he thought he was dead, be chewed upon by maggots and worms in his grave. However, these dreams had been going on for as long as two years now, and he was beginning to wonder what they meant.   
  


The Latin man groaned in his sleep and rolled on his side. His whole soul hurt, and there were more of the strange squirming creatures now- and others, new winged creatures like bats attacking him. He tried to push them away, but it just enticed them more. "Stop! Go away!" The pain got sharper. They-they were tearing him apart. He screamed. "What do you want with me! NO!"   
  


His body began vibrating violently and suddenly Trowa's eyes opened wide into the half-lit face of someone he at first thought was one of them. "No-" A hand clamped over his mouth.   
  


"Hush it, Trowa. You want a wake up the whole group of 'em." Cobalt eyes looked at him with a strange hushed worry, as chestnut hair glinted in the dim light. The raven lifted his hand from Trowa's mouth to let him speak.   
  


"Duo?" Trowa's bare chest was dripping with sweat, and his eyes glazed and staring somewhere beyond the startled face of the Shinigami. Rapid breath escaped his lips. Soemthing was very wrong with Trowa. Duo didn't know just what, but it was more than the death of Quatre that was eating away at his buddy.   
  


"Dang, that must have been some nightmare." He offered a hand to help Trowa out of his cot. "What's happened."   
  


The Lion sat up and shook his head, putting a hand at the bridge of his nose to pinch off a strange headache. "I'm not sure ... I have ... I have these dreams every night."   
  


"Never heard you scream before. No wonder you're so quiet. You should see a shrink."   
  


He though about his dream for a moment, knitting his brows together recalling the foreign, yet frightening pain. It was a very odd pain-one that gave him a feeling that if it continued it would cause far worse than death.   
  


"I don't think a psychiatrist would help ..." whispered Trowa finally.   
  


It was Duo's turn to quirk his eyebrows. "Then what the Hell is wrong with you?" He was really worried, and it was coming off as anger instead of concern.   
  


"I told you, I don't know!" Trowa snapped.   
  


Duo leaped back at the outburst, suddenly frightened by the rage evident in the Lion's features. /_That's not Trowa ..._/ the Shinigami thought. /_What the Hell is wrong with him._/   
  


The anger faded as quickly as it came, and blazing green eyes faded once again to the familiar, cold emerald. The hand returned to his forehead, and Trowa began applying pressure, trying to soothe the migraine a little. "I'm sorry, Duo. I don't know what came over me."   
  


/_I don't know either._/ the Shinigami thought to himself. /_I don't know either._/   
  


***********************************************************************   
  


**March 3rd, A.C. 197 :: 05:17**   
  


"We haven't got much sleep tonight," muttered Gavin. His white hair was a mess, and he was tired.   
  


The little red-haired girl just giggled. "Don't worry, it's Saturday."   
  


"Yeah, but we've been up aaaaaall night."   
  


Mariemaia cocked her head. "I thought you said you don't sleep much?"   
  


"But I /do/ sleep!"   
  


"Oh, yeah, sorry." Ice blue eyes gave him a sympathetic look. "You could have told me you wanted to sleep some, but I've never had a sleep-over before."   
  


"You know sleep-over does contain the word 'sleep'."   
  


More giggles ensued. "I guess it does."   
  


Gavin sighed. He really hadn't wanted to do this sleep-over thing. He'd never done one before, and it took away from the time he spent with Quatre. Quatre needed him right now, but he couldn't stay on the Boat for long-only at night and when he locked himself in his room. He never had dealt well with the living, but now that Mariemaia had forced friendship upon him, he didn't have a choice but to learn.   
  


"Hey, Gavin." The voice of the young Khushrenada broke his daze. "You okay?"   
  


"Yeah ..."   
  


"You're just being quiet."   
  


"I'm always quiet."   
  


"Oh ..." She remained silent for a moment. "Is there a dead person here?"   
  


"Huh?"   
  


"A dead person. 'Cause if there was I was gonna say "Hi." I don't wanna be rude."   
  


"Oh. No ..."   
  


"Did you know Treize?"   
  


"Huh ... Yeah, he was like Quatre."   
  


"Oh. Cool. You see, when I was in a coma, I swore he came to me, and he had these huge and beautiful wings. He told me that if I act with my heart and learn his mistakes I'll be a good leader someday- he said he ddn't wnat me to make his mistakes. I think ... I think if I were still alive, I would be happy for him to be my dad. I wish I knew him ..."   
  


"So that's where he went ..." The boy murmured. "I always wondered ..."   
  


"What?"   
  


"Treize, I wondered where he flew to. He came to watch over you."   
  


The red head looked around as if he were right there with her. "Where, where is he?"   
  


"Not /right/ here, silly, just around."   
  


"Oh. Would you be able to see him if he were here?"   
  


"Uh-huh."   
  


"What about me?"   
  


"Uh ... I'm not sure. Probably not, but he was your father, so maybe."   
  


"I bet I'd see Q-chan."   
  


"Quatre's still in the world of the dead."   
  


"Tell him I said "Hi" next time you see him."   
  


She had said this before, he remembered thjat conversation so well ... 

//*   
  


"I don't know if he'll remember you ..." He faltered. Would Mariemaia understand. She'd already sat through his explaination of the Underworld, and Quatre's significance, but this ... It had never come up. He hoped it wouldn't upset her.   
  


"What do you mean? How could he forget me? He saved my life ... /I/ was the reason he died. Because he came to save me, he had to ... Had to die ..." She sniffed back a sob. It still hurt to know that she was the reason Quatre was not at home, safe with his beloved Trowa-kun.   
  


Gavin choked a bit. He had never had Quatre's full story related to him. Of course he would remember Mariemaia ... If she was so close to how he died. But ...   
  


"Why do they forget?"   
  


"Huh? Oh ... I think, its just the shock of leaving the body ... leaving the Earth-plane. Its meant to make Death easier, but even I don't understand."   
  


"So, you don't know everything about the World of the Dead."   
  


"Nope. Do you know everything about Earth?"   
  


"Good point."   
  


//**   
  


He returned his mind to the real world, remembering what Quatre had told him.   
  


"He misses you."   
  


"Huh."   
  


"Quatre."   
  
  
  


The girl leaned back in her bed and looked up at the ceiling, and the glow-in-the-dark stars that Lady Une had painted there. She wondered what Q-chan was going through. He must miss Trowa-kun, and all the living people. She wondered what it was like to be dead-to be alone and confused, with noone to embrace you because you were just a ghost. "Can I go with you?"   
  


"Huh?"   
  


"Go to the World of the Dead. I wanna go with you."   
  


"Uh ..." Gavin didn't know how to answer. He'd never thought about bringing another person. Was it possible? He didn't know. Violet eyes looked back at Mariemaia perplexed. Her eyes met his with a smile.   
  


"So?"   
  


"I-I don't know. Maybe ..."   
  


"Can you ask?"   
  


"There's noone to ask."   
  


"Maybe someone knows."   
  


Gavin stared off into the distance. "Maybe ..." /_It would be nice to not be alone ..._/   
  


*********************************************************************   
  


**March 3rd, A.C. 197:: 08:33**   
  


Trowa stared blankly at the paper in front of him, news directly from the L-4 colony cluster. The front page headline hit him with a mixture of pain and horrow:   
  


**Winner Heir Takes Gay Lover**   
  


It was horrible, as if all the two were- well, were an unscrupulous couple involved in purely passsionate romps around various places in the world during the war and up to now. Most of it, in fact, were pure lies. Liesw that stung. He and Quatre had shared some nights of passionate embrace yet, but Quatre was more than just a lover. He was his _koi**, **_his soul-mate. He had loved Quatre.   
  


And now they were smearing his name and all those close to him with the over-blown scandal. He didn't even understand how anyone in the press found out about him and Quatre's romance. The total people that knew about their romance was less than twenty, and the only one that might let it slip was Duo- and even he wasn't that stupid. He could even be ... The lion choked on the thought ... Sensitive.   
  


Green eyes continued to read through the slander as he sipped on his morning coffee. It was disgusting- weak American coffee that Duo had made. Hadn't the Shinigami heard of Espresso ... No wait, if this little caffeine made him hyper, the Latin would hate to see what an Espresso would do to the bouncy braid-boy.   
  


Speak of the devil, the Raven had just flipped a chiar backwards and was now sitting across from the man whom he'd found disturbed in the middle of the night. "What do you want, Gringo?" he said irritably.   
  


Duo had decided to ignore the half-derogatory "Gringo", that was as common to him as "Gaijin" was from Heero. "Hey man, what's eatin' ya?"   
  


Trowa flashed to his dream briefly, but shook it away. "Look." He gestured to the headline.   
  


Purple-blue eyes nearly popped out of there sockets. "Whoa, no wonder you're pissed."   
  


"Nice phrasing."   
  


"Sorry."   
  


"No, you're not."   
  


The braid-boy grinned. God, how could he do that at a time like this? "Did you even read the article, or ar you illiterate?"   
  
  
  


"Uh, illiterate. No I can read." He took the article from Trowa and glaced over it. "Man, they make you sound like a male whore or somethin'."   
  


"Again, I admire your use of the English language."   
  


"I told you, I'm sorry!"   
  


"Can it, Maxwell."   
  


"Sure." Trowa waited, he knew that Duo couldn't stay shut up for long. Some days he was certain the Death God had medication, and forgot to take it.   
  


Finally, the Shinigami couldn't stand it any longer. "Quatre doesn't cross dress! He wore pink, but he never wore women's stuff!"   
  


"You can't keep quiet can you?"   
  


"Yeah, but damn!"   
  


"Duo ..."   
  


"I know, sorry." He paused. "So ... What are you gonna do about it?"   
  


"What do you mean?"   
  


"About this!" he said gesturing to the paper.   
  


"There's nothing I can do. They'll just find more dirt. Eventually it will blow over. Besides, I don't even know who slipped."   
  


"Yeah, but you can find out! They'll be making up stories about- Hell, about me and Heero before long, and you know who'll believe that one. Then Relena'll stomp down here with false accusations and-"   
  


"What, do you like Heero or something."   
  


"Hell, no!" Duo sulked at the table for a moment. "He pinched me once."   
  


"Good lord ..."   
  


"No really ... I swear, if he asks me into bed with him and Relena-"   
  


"Stop there. I don't want to hear what your over active imagination comes up with when it has nothing better to do than torture me. Heero and Relena haven't even seen each other since the Mariemaia Uprising- not including Quatre's funeral."   
  


"Okay ... But, they would be a cute couple."   
  


"Cute's not the word for it. Then again, the idea of you and Heero is even more horrifying."   
  


"This is what I'm saying."   
  


"Okay, but you picked a starnge way to do it."   
  


"You know, you and Noin should date."   
  


"What!"   
  


"No, I mean, she lost Zechs, you lost Quatre."   
  


"Um, no. Noin is ... Well, she's Noin. Nice, but- Duo, I am not ready to date and neither is she. Have some respect."   
  


"Okay. I just wanted to lighten things up."   
  


"I know. Its not like you ever mean any harm."   
  


"Hey look, its Noin."   
  


"God, Duo."   
  


The ebony haired woman opted to join them. "Sorry if I'm intruding, but I saw the paper. I can't believe it. That's such a horrible lie. You really loved Quatre." Violet eyes looked at the youth with a sincere expression.   
  


"Thank you, Noin."   
  


"I mean it. I've never seen two people so in love. Do you want to know what my intuition thinks?"   
  


"Enlighten us, Miss Noin," snickered the Shinigami.   
  


"Get a life, Maxwell."   
  


"Whoa, some woman didn't have her morning coffee. Or is that PMS?"   
  


"Duo, why don't you go check out the weaponry. Commander Noin and I need to talk business."   
  


"But I wanna he- Oh, you two want some alone time."   
  


"Stop it, before I hit you, you disrespectful bastard!" lashed Trowa.   
  


"Damn, Trowa! Sorry, Noin, he did this last night too."   
  


"Duo, why don't you let Trowa be. He's a little stressed."   
  


"Okay, later Trowa."   
  


"Yeah ... Uh, sorry Duo."   
  


The braided boy shrugged him off. "Doesn't matter."   
  


As the raven clad youth walked away, Noin turned her attention back to the brown haired Latin. "Okay, this may sound strange, but something tells me its no accident that this has come out on L-4 so soon after Quatre's death."   
  


"What do you mean?" Trowa was confuse. What purpose could this slander have to anyone?   
  


"What I mean is, this is too great a coincidence. If my suspicions are correct, the Barton Followers are trying to use this to gain control of L-4, not to mention bait you. That may not be it, but I'd keep my eye on L-4. It's a very important cluster, and the Barton Followers would do just about anything to gain control of it."   
  


Trowa sat back in his chair. This made sense. Many people in the world were homophobic, afraid of that type of foreign relationship. This over-exagerrated story could turn a lot of people suspicious, and others mutinous to the "morality" of the Preventers. It was an unnecessary complication in an already difficult scenario.   
  


All the more reason to get rid o the Barton Followers as soon as possible.   
  


"What do you think we should do, Noin?"   
  


"I'm not sure. We need to plant some bugs, that for certain. Also, the headquarters we raided the 14th was a decoy. We need to find the real center, and put an end to this Barton nonsense."   
  


"Spying then. Maybe we can find another Treize loyalist. It would be helpful."   
  


Noin nodded, black hair waving up and down in front of her eyes as did so. "That woul be tricky. Its hard to trust anyone, though we might have luck searching out weaponry."   
  


"And land us with more decoys, not a good idea. I hate to say this, but we could use Zechs Merquise's intuition right about now."   
  


"I know what you mean. He was my rod. Its - its hard working without him."   
  


Trowa nodded. "Maybe, maybe he made it to the other side-to a better place."   
  


"I hope so. So, what are we going to do?"   
  


"Assign some errands for six weeks, and reconvene on April 14th, a month and fortnight away. By then, we should have more information about the intent of the BF and decide some course of action until then."   
  


"And you?"   
  


"I'm borrowing you, Sally, Wu-fei, and Duo. We have to find Heero Yuy."   
  


**TBC**.   
  


Authors Notes:   
  


The reference to ADHD is not meant to be derogatory. Some of my best friends and have that disorder. (And luckily have the BEST sense of humors in the world.) 


	11. Chapter 11

**Wings of Love Part XI (11/?) (3x4, 4x3)**   
  


Disclaimor: Gundam Wing is not mine. Gavin and Charon are © me.   
  


**Chapter 11:**   
  


Gavin sat alone in his room, mind locked deep in thought. Curtains billowed from the open window behind him and he could feel the breeze as it played games with his wild, moonlit hair. Outside, crickets chirruped songs about Lady Night, and frogs happily chattered from the not-so-distant pond in the backyard.   
  


Eyes open, he searched in his mind for the door to his room. Finding it locked, he breathed a sigh of relief, not wanting anyone to walk in. He was about to do something that noone in his family knew about, and he was certain that now was not a good time for them to find out about his strange and unnerving ability.   
  


He closed his eyes and focused, though it didn't matter much whether the dilated orbs remained open or closed. In his world it was all the same, a swirling mass of spirits and darkness, webbed with colors other mortals had no clue exhisted.   
  


With a deep breath Gavin centered himself, staring at the strange combinations of material darkness and spiritual brightness and color that was ever present in his mind. Pushing the darkness aside, he sought for the light and the strange senstions it brought. It was like trying to walk forward against a strong river current, and the strange chills and warmths threatened to carry his spirit away and off into Oblivion or some other foreign or wretched place.   
  


He swallowed his fear and continued forward, his room far behind him. His spirit hands reached out to grab hold of the walls that were unseen around him, tendrils of thought still clasped to his body to bring it behind him. He used those invisible barriers as guides. A long time ago he had found that there was a Door in his soul that allowed him through to the forbidden Other Side. He didn't know if it was the same Door that mortals Crossed through at their Death or not. All he was certain of was that those walls lead him to it, as angels and demons whispered coaxing or fearful words to him.   
  


The boy could never tell who the encouraging voices were. Sometimes he thought they were the demons, trying to destroy any chance of Freedom and Flight by their wiley ways, encouraging him to tamper with things not meant for mortal souls to stick their spirits into.   
  


He hated demons.   
  


Amethyst eyes darted through the mist, trying to ignore the voices and the beings surrounding him in this Limbo. Step, step- each step was like a loud thud. He felt like a giant, he was moving so slow. He knew he was close to the Door now, and close enough to Doom itself to fear for his existance   
  


He always hesitated here, the un-matter swirling about him like true Chaos. He always wanted to turn back, to run away before he reached the forbidden Door, but he always went forward again, curiousity and hope biting away the thoughts that caused hesitation.   
  


He took a tentative step forward. It was there. He knew it by heart now. Hidden by the tendrils of Chaos and Order the invisible Door was right before him, waiting for the boy to step through. His mouth twitched in a nervous manner as his body tensed, like a hapr string waiting to be plucked.   
  


Taking his right hand off of the barrier, he reached out to find the edge of the Door through the muddled colors and lights. When his outsretched hand touched the cold flat edge of what he knew was the Door he stopped, hesitating for the thousandth time at the only Barrier left between the Earth-Plane and the Other Side.   
  


The thing was, he didn't like the feeling of Crossing Over. The back of his mind always left him with the thought that eventually he would Cross Over and never make it back home. It was a thought that frightened him. He understood Death, but still feared the thought of leaving his own world behind so soon. What if one day he woke up and was stuck in the Underworld forever, with no wings to escape with.   
  


He would be trapped. For eternity.   
  


Gavin shook off his fears. He promised to go and stay with Quatre. He couldn't desert him now. There was a reason that he was always transported to the Boat now, a reason he was allowed to go on Quatre's journey across the Ocean and he had to find out what it was.   
  


He pressed his hand into the cold surface of the Door. It bubbled, like water did when a water bug stepped onto its surface. Feeling it wobble under the pressure he pressed harder. The Door hesitated under the weight for an instant The boy choked with fear. He could still turn back if he wanted to. He could still go back to his safe room in the World of the Living. His knees buckled suddenly. He felt his whole body go limp, soul with it, as the bubbley wall gave way and his soul fell through.   
  


Crossing through the Door was a strange sensation. His life would flash before him so suddenly and he would feel this cold-warm tingling sensation all over his body. It was like being born, or moreover, being put into a body for the first time, only instead of being pulled in, he was being sucked out. It was hard to keep hold of the body that kept him from dying when he Crossed Over. It made something like breath catch in his throat, and his whole being tremble with some foreign emotion even he didn't understand.   
  


And then it was over.   
  


It was like a silence had filled his soul. His mind wavered. Had he made it there safe? Was he still alive? A mild creaking sound, resounded around him as he felt the sway of the ground underneath him ... No not the ground, the deck. Seeing the gray sky above he kew he was safe, and back aboard the Boat on his journey with Quatre across the Ocean.   
  


A gray shadow stood over his outstretched body, looking down at him with mournful, sapphire eyes. A grim look that could barely pass for a smile crossed his weather coutenance. "Nice to have you back, lad."   
  


Gavin lay a moment in the bed of the boat, collecting himself after the Cross Over. He shook his head, relieving his soul of the chanting whispers that still seemed to fill his head. When he was free of them, he pulled his body into an upright sitting position, and looked at the dull-cloaked boatman before him, blinking his violet eys half dazed.   
  


Charon spoke again, his calm, monotonous voice filling the silence like the creaking of the boat around him. "What took you so long?" The creaking, common voice almost sounded like a part of the dull scenery. It wasn't much of a voice, or, at least it wasn't the type anyone listened to for very long.   
  


The boy looked down at the question, fingering the dirty heel of his boot with a dainty white hand. "I had something to do- on the weekend. I-" He paused, unsure of how to explain Mariemaia and the slumber party to a wizened old man such as Charon. He wiggled uncofortably in his jacket, starched cloth fighting not to wrinkle under the pressure of the repeated movement. He started again, his warbling young voice making a stark contrast against the flatness of the elder's: "You see, I have this friend ... and-"   
  


"A friend? Ah, this is new, Gavin. You didn't have a friend two years ago, did you?" The voice had picked up some liveliness now, as if influenced by the white haired boy's presence.   
  


"Uh, no ..."   
  


"Then this is new, as you didn't have a friend when you last visited Quatre either." Charon gestured as he spoke, the young boy following his eyes to see why the soul hadn't spoken at all. The white haired boy gave a soft sigh of relief as he saw him in the far corner of the boat. He was curled up, fast asleep, his small wings twitching with happy dreams of happier times.   
  


Gavin turned back to the boatman. "Well, you see, I had met her when I last came, but-"   
  


"A she? Oh, well that explains it. The lad has a lass to look after." A grin broke on the stoney face, causing th boy to jump back. Charon had never smiled before. Maybe that was because Gavin had never had any good news to share. "So," continued the wrnkled man, "Is she you're girlfriend then?"   
  


The statement had contained a hint of mockery in it and Gavin felt his face flush, cheeks turning a becoming rose. The boatman couldn't help but notice the soft blush and laughed aloud. The laugh sounded choked, as if the old man had nearly forgotten how to do it. It reminded Gavin of a rook's croak, and how they always cackled at people as they passed by. He flushed more.   
  


"Well, its- uh, its not exactly-" he continued stuttering incoherant sentenced for about five minutes until he was again broken off by the guide.   
  


"I was just teasing, lad. Its the first chance I've got to do it in five thousand years. Its alright. What did you do then?"   
  


Gavin recovered himself, wiping a hand over his face to remove any sweat that may have surfaced at his former nervousness. "She invited me to sleep over. Its really strange, she invited me to a 'Sleep Over' but we didn't really get any sleep. It was my first," he stated proudly.   
  


"What was her name, then."   
  


"Mariemaia." He paused, a though striking him. "You know Treize from two years ago?"   
  


The old man nodded, stroking his rough chin thoughtfully.   
  


"Well, she's his daughter," he continued cheerfully. As an afterthough he added, "I'm her first friend too."   
  


A soft moan sounded from the corner in which Quatre was fast asleep. Their conversation thus ended, Charon and the boy turned to see what had disturbed the youth's sleep. Gvin wathced intently as the ghost blinked his oceany eyes, still half asleep. Those orbs looked up at the sky through a curtain of thick lashes as he refocused the ever-shifting world around him. Eyes wider, the blond spotted Gavin, and his wings fluttered involuntarily in happiness.   
  


"Morning," he said habitually, smiling warmly at the presence of his friend. "When did you get here?"   
  


"Not long ago." The boy stepped forward to give Quatre a hand up. He still wasn't very good at keeping himself upright on a boat, but that would come with time. Gavin guessed it was his desert background that caused the spirit to be so unstable.   
  


The spirit took the pale hand greatfully, allowing Gavin to do the concetration invloved in pulling a spirit upward without him slipping from the mortal hand. Once upright, he stumbled, recatching his footing just before the boy reached to grab him again.   
  


"I'm okay," breathed the ghost, trying to stabilize himself against the rocking. Grasping the side rail of the Boat, he looked out across the never ending expanse of undulating blue waves. His soul breathed a sigh. He had never seen so much water, and wasn't sure whether to call it beautiful or depressing.   
  


The youth flicked his wings as he heard Gavin step up behind him. Turning around to face him, the Lamb switched his hand position on the Boat's rail, gazing past the boy to the Ocean on the otehr side.   
  


"Your wings are getting bigger," noted the boy, not unhappily. The wings, which were so tiny at first, were now the size of an outstretched hand-but a hundred times more capricious. Quatre didn't have any conscious control over them yet, and they pretty much flicked about with his moods and moods of their own. Gavin had never got to see them this old before. It was almost as if they were currently a separate entity from the soul.   
  


Subconsciously, Quatre reached back to touch them, shirking back at their foreigness. He smiled apologetically. "I'm still not really used to them," he explained.   
  


Gavin grinned. "I'm sure it takes some getting used to."   
  


Quatre nodded, pale hair bobbing in the breeze. It was not really a breeze, but moreover a gust of air that was caused soley by the forward movement of the Boat. However, it sufficed as a breeze and so it was considered such.   
  


"Mariemaia said 'Hi' again," the boy continued, grin fading into a faint, angelic smile.   
  


"She did?" His whole face lit up as he replied. It were as though it never occured to Quatre that anyone but Trowa would ever have remembered him.   
  


The boy nodded, reckless hair falling unconcernedly in his eyes. "I stayed over at her place. She stays with a woman called Lady Une. I like her. She's serious, but nice."   
  


The statement of Lady Une went on unheard by the interested spirit. The Arab was far more interested in Gavin's find as a friend. "So what did you do?"   
  


"Stayed up all night," stated the boy, wryly.   
  


"Sounds like a sleep over." Quatre smiled. He himself had had very few sleepovers as a child. He remembered that he had been a bit self-absorbed. Eyes brightened more. Now tht he had begun to remember his life, memories that he though had completely faded were beginning to surface. He wonder if eventually he would even remember being born.   
  


Gavin watched the thoughts cross over the blonde's face. "She wants to come for a visit," he interrupted.   
  


The youth's focus turned back to the boy. "She does? Why? This is-"   
  


"I know. She ... Doesn't seem to care. She thinks you're lonely."   
  


Quatre looked at his feet. He /_did_/ miss the people he had known while he was alive. It would be nice to see Mariemaia, or anyone that was alive for that matter. However, it was highly impossible.   
  


"She's right you know," mumbled Quatre.   
  


"I know."   
  


There was silence for a few heartbeats.   
  


"I'd be lonely too."   
  


The two looked at each other silent for a moment, as Charon piloted the Boat at its healm. With smiling eyes there was a moment of sympathy in a dread and dreary world.   
  


Fantasy fading, Gavin turned to where the boatman stood at work, mind meditating upon the emptiness around him. "Charon?" he questioned, not wanting to interrupt some important task.   
  


The grey man turned his head slightly, muttering a soft "hmm" under his breath.   
  


Encouraged by not being silenced, Gavin spoke again. "Do you think that a human, I mean a living one, could ever come to this World of the Dead."   
  


Charon shrugged, old bones cracking with the movement. "You did."   
  


The boy bit his lip in frustration. "Other than me. I mean, I saw Death when I was born. There's something just plain /_weird_/ about me."   
  


The older man knitted his brows together, thinking for a moment. Certainly there had been a time when mortals vertured into the Other Side, but then, it was during the time of gods and heroes ... So long ago, that Charon himself couldn't remember.   
  


"I suppose that it's possible," he stated gravely. "However, there would likely be some great need for it. Mortals just don't venture into this World unless their you, in a coma, or just plain Dead."   
  


Gavin felt bit back by those sharp words. He moved to say something, but clamped his mouth shut again, not wanting to make a scene over a trifle. He'd just tell Mariemaia it was impossible. It wasn't like she was expecting to go at any second. He'd tell her that he was just unusual and that it was some foreign power invested in him that allowed him to Cross Over without dying.   
  


But he couldn't get over the feeling that the thought wasn't quite correct. She had almost been killed before, and there was something in that ... He shook it off as blind hope. All he wanted was another freak like himself, and that was quite selfish. He wasn't going to drag a perfectly nice person into a world of Dread and Emptiness.   
  


The boy felt a hand go just through his shoulder and he looked around. Quatre was staring back at him, a little mournfully, but understanding the moral dilemmas that the nine year old was forced to put himself through.   
  


"Don't worry about it, Gavin. If she wants to come that bad, she'll try to find her own way in." He smiled, remembering other experiences with the stubborn red-head. The memories now had such a defined clearness. It were as though now that he was free of the grip of the Land of the Dead, a fog had been lifted from his eyes that covered the depthes of his mind even in his life. Maybe his subconscious was now conscious. There were so many strange things that he could do now.   
  


"Gav?"   
  


"Huh?"   
  


Quatre giggled. The silliest question of all time had popped into his mind. "Do you think I could stick my hand through my head." He pictured it and began laughing out loud. Gavin, upon hearing the question did the same.   
  


"I don't know if you'd like the feeling!" he exclaimed between giggles.   
  


"I could pick my own brain!"   
  


Charon looked back, bemused but contented. Souls in the midst of this journey were often more lonely than cheerful, and bland as he was, the boatman could seldom offer solace. It was a gentling experience to see two people so happy amidst the bleakness of the Underworld. It was a contradiction to the very substances that held the world in place.   
  


Sapphire eyes turned back to examined the horizon. His sparse eyebrows quirked together as he scanned the distant skyline. There was a darkness there. He couldn't quit see it but it was there, emanating from the line of sea and sky like the feeling of Doom. There was something wrong where they were going.   
  


He put a bony hand to his head, trying to discern waht exactly was going on. Grizzled gray hair shadowed his face and his pushed it away with the flick of his ancient wrist. Focus ... Focus ... He let his mind loose. Something was definitely out there. It was like a storm, darkening the horizon in a still unseen manner. He felt the waves drop off and the rocking cease. This wasn't normal. In all of his years, the waves had only dropped off like this on two other occasions. A breath caught in his throat. This was very bad.   
  


The boy stepped up behind him, violet eyes wide with concern. He felt it too, and wanted to know exactly what was going on. "What's wrong, Charon," he quavered.   
  


The old man looked back at Quatre, blue eyes filling with compassionate concern. "I'm not sure, but its not good. Not good at all."   
  


TBC.   
  


Author's Notes:   
  


I just wanted to say, that if you haven't noticed, Gavin brings his body to the Underworld. Its, at least as far as he (and I) knows, the only thing that lets him stay alive there. Describing that and Crossing Over was, therefore, an interesting experience. Not to say they describing normal Crossing Over would be any easier. After all, I'd have to describe the trauma that makes the memory go away.   
  


Needless to say, on the contrary to some stuff I've grabbed off of other authors, that one was ALL me. *grins* Gosh, this fic has given me awesome fuel for writing Gavin in the future. Thanks for keeping me on it, guys! 


	12. Chapter 12

Wings of Love Chapter 12 3x4, 4x3

Wings of Love Chapter 12 3x4, 4x3 

"I'm borrowing you, Sally, Wu-fei, and Duo. We have to find Heero Yuy."

** **

Archived:Fanfiction.net

Warnings:Yaoi, angst, metaphysical contemplation\

Pairings:3x4, 4x3, (3+S, 9+S, 5+9, 3+9, 2+5, 5+S, 1+S) ---- All only if you lean that way or think about it.) 

Disclaimer:Gundam W is not mine.Amanda's mine.So is James.

April 12 A.C. 197::11:34 

** **

Trowa had wasted over a month searching for Heero Yuy, but had had no luck in finding him.The time to find the disappearing soldier had dwindled to two days, when he would have to return to the Preventor Headquarters and proceed with whatever plan he could muster without the Japanese youth's aid.

It was not a happy prospect.

He looked to where Noin sat with Sally leaning over her shoulder.They were in the midst of examining records on their laptop-for about the 50th time today.He sighed, flicking back a stray brown hair from his eyes, not that it did much good.The two had become quite an inseparable duo over the past few weeks-Sally trying to comfort her friend as well as possible.

Speaking of Duo …The mime turned around again, watching the chestnut haired youth pick a fight with Wu-fei, also for the 50th time that day.Why had he decided to bring the two of them together again?He couldn't remember.

He listened to the babbling for a minute, trying to see the cause of the squabble.The gist he got was that Duo had called Wufei girly and the other had bit his head off about the braid-thus resulting in the petty word war.Trowa sighed- there was /never/ quiet with those two around:Never.

He turned back to the work at hand, a set of papers and other periodicals.He was beginning to despise looking through them to find Heero.Instead of discovering any clue to the youth's whereabouts, he was only finding more and more degraded rumors about himself and Quatre.He felt a twinge of pain inside him-a not quite physical pain and squirmed.He shouldn't be letting these things get to him like they were.

The brunette felt a hand touch his should and he jumped.Twisting his head, he noticed the twin sandy braids on Sally Po and settled down.She must have been unable to help Noin this round.He glanced to where the ebony haired woman sat slumped, staring glaze-eyed at the scrolling text.She was still taking Zechs death as hard as he took Quatre's-he twitched as he watched her.Death was a frightening, unknown thing.

"Trowa?"The husky voice of his concerned companion brought him back to the present.He looked to the pleasant face and tried to smile-pushing the noise of Wufei and Duo's squabbling from his mind for a time. 

Sally noticed the emerald eyes glance to the pair and laughed."You know, if Hilde were here, maybe our local Shinigami would keep off He-man Woman-hater."

Trowa feigned a smile.He tried to chuckle, but it was choked off by some inner demon that kept him brooding."They fight like a married couple," he mused quietly.

The statement brought a wry smile to the taller woman's painted lips."Don't you dare say that to Wufei!He'd nail you with a roundhouse, and then do that creepy Chinese eyebrow thing."She laughed, trying to mock the disdainful eyebrow raising that Wufei did whenever he was thoroughly pissed with one of his co-workers.Trowa gave a real smile to that, and then turned back to Noin.

"Is she doing okay," he queried, gesturing to the frozen figure.

Slate eyes examined Trowa's truly worried features.She sighed."No.Trowa, she _loved_ Zechs.She's afraid for his soul.Did you know she was Christian?"

"No."

"Neither did I, and she's sincerely worried Zechs went to Hell and she'll never see him again."

"Damn."

"I know."

"I'm not very devout, but I-I think there's some kind of God.Not sure about Hell."

"I'm not sure about anything."

Trowa nodded."With all the wars, who is anymore?Quatre was a fairly devout Moslem, um, disregarding him being in love with me of course."

"Screw that," Sally forced out, trying diligently to lighten the mood.Religion wasn't always her favorite subject.

"Mmmm. " He watched as Noin shifted in her seat, head dropping to the keyboard."Is she Catholic?"

"Her family was-dunno about her.She went to a Catholic school, but I don't know if she changed denominations."

"I'm going to talk to her."

"Please do.There's nothing else I can say."The sandy haired woman swallowed."I haven't … lost anybody.You …You've lost–Fei too."

Trowa nodding, standing up from the stiff chair he'd been sitting in for the past three hours.He looked to the squabble.Wufei had retreated to a corner with his back turned and Duo was snickering in the middle of the room.Rolling his eyes at the annoying Raven, Trowa walked toward Wufei, hoping he'd be helpful and pull the stick out of his butt for a change.

"Chang?" he questioned, feeling out the Dragon's mood.

Wufei turned around, still seething from whatever Duo had last said to him.Ebony eyes gave an accusing look as he spat out:"What?"

Trowa took a deep breath, letting the other youth's anger fade."I need to ask you a favor."

An eyebrow rose."Hn."

"A big favor.And it may hurt."

Wufei's head seemed to jerk back.What kind of a favor hurt?"Explain," he muttered, watching Duo smirk out of the corner of his eye.

Trowa grabbed him, forcing the young Dragon to look full into his face."You lost Meiran and I need you to help me talk to Noin.I'm having a hard enough time with Quatre's death …I need you to help if I falter."

The Chinese youth pushed Trowa away and stared at him curiously, eyes watering a little, but blinked back quickly."You want me to talk about Nataku?" he asked more softly.

"If you think it will help Noin, yes.She thinks Zechs is in Hell or something-she misses him.She's blaming herself, like I'm blaming myself, and you've blamed yourself."

The youth passed a tan hand through his raven hair, looking at the ground.It was loose now, flying about his face.That damned Shinigami had stolen his hair tie and now it was a mess.He fumbled with his hands for a change of pace, not sure he wanted to reveal his soul and weakness with sympathy.

"Please, I'll tell Duo to go buy some cheeseburgers."

It was a childish statement-and utter begging.Wufei's softness turned to contempt briefly again, but he swatted it away.Integrity- Master Long had told him he must have that along ago.Evil looks and foul language would only cause him to lose the little integrity he had gained."If you tell him that, then I will go.I don't want Maxwell to see me blubbering."

"I don't blame you," said the other mildly."He can be a real butt-head sometimes."

Wufei nodded and walked over to Noin while the other sent the Raven away.The young man cleared him throat."Miss Noin?"

The woman jerked up as if she had been suddenly woken from a sound sleep.Violet eyes blinked confusedly as the vivacity returned to them.Lips frowned in confusion."Wufei?"

"Are you alright?"The voice was mellow for a change-the voice he'd used to say his final good-bye to Nataku, when he had finally let her go after all those years.He moved a hand to rest on her shoulder, fighting the urge to become distant.

Noin started at the gesture, having never seen the soft side of the Dragon before."Coping," was all she replied.Her voice was melancholy-it lacked its normal vibrance.

"Its not your fault."

"I know, Wufei.It just-"

"Feels that way?"

Noin nodded, a little in awe at the Chinese youth's sympathy.Where was all of this bubbling up from?

Wufei seemed to sense the confusion and knelt to be more on her level.Ebony eyes stared her full in the face as he spoke-as soft as his voice could:"There are things I swore I would never tell you.Things about my past only three people know and one of them is dead."He paused to take a breath-it went against his whole soul to empty himself to a woman-no, /this/ woman.

Noin stared at him, violet eyes intense and further confused.Lines of grief and weariness crossed her brow, making the eyes seem more intense.What was Wufei trying to do, what was he saying?It was so unlike him to do anything of this sort-ever.Mouth frowned as she watched him gather himself, eyes blinking rapidly for a few brief seconds.What the Hell had happened to Wu-fei?

"Did you know I was married?It wasn't a happy marriage, but I was.Perhaps I even loved my wife-I think I do now, or did then and didn't know it."

"Wife?"

"I was married at 14.My wife was a strong woman-much stronger than I was.I read too much, studied too much.I was weak- deep in my heart, I am sure I was afraid-of death and war and everything that I found to cling to during the Mariemaia Uprising."

Noin shook her head, black bangs falling over her eyes."I don't believe you ever could have been weak, Wufei."

"It doesn't matter.The point is she died.She fought, as no woman should.She died in battle, with a man's name-against every clan rule that ever existed.My heart has been stone since that day.I have always held the belief in my heart that I could have saved her, had I been stronger … my dear, Nataku."

"Nataku?That was-"

"Yes, my Gundam-my wife's name that she took to be strong.Gods, if I could have understood her before she left me.I couldn't let her go.She was so …"

"You really did love her."

Wufei forced a smile.It was hard to talk about that thing which he kept bottled up inside during the long hard days of life."She was everything I've ever wanted to be …There, you know my secret."

"What secret?God, anyone who's ever been in love feels that way."

"You loved Zechs …"

"He was so strong.Look at me; I'm reduced to nothing right now.I sit in my room and I sob-I can't even be useful."

"Look at Trowa.He's in pain; though he's hiding it-like I hid it.You women, you're much better off then men.You can cry and not be laughed at it.Men are weak for tears, women are just themselves."

"Sexist?"

"No, the truth.I'm not saying you're weak, not this time.You're lucky.I scream at the heavens in rage-and it doesn't answer me.You shed tears quietly, and your God responds.He's all around you, I'm sure."

"Huh?"

"Zechs.Nataku-I feel her presence now that I've released her.They tell you if you love someone, you must let them go.If they return to you, then you truly have love-if they do not return, there was never love in the first place."

"I've-I've never heard you talk this way …"

"I've never needed to."He stood, watching where Trowa had returned form the corner of his eye-it seemed that he didn't want to intrude.It was no matter if he stepped in, Trowa was one of the two living who knew about Meiran, about Nataku.Sally Po was the other-but then; she was so like Nataku it was startling.Maybe that was why he strived to be calm and reasonable around her.She seemed to break into the heart that he froze.

He glanced to the Lion again, wondering briefly if the brunette has locked his heart away.It was such an easy thing to do-a deadly, but easy thing.He had reason to believe that Trowa needed this conversation more than Noin.

"You worried about him?"

"Perceptive of you, as always, Noin."

"Mm, never thought you noticed."

"Will you be alright now-Trowa needs a talk now."

"Yeah.Looks like you're turning into a psychiatrist, Wufei."

The Chinese youth nodded.He turned back to her."You know, in all the years I've known you, I've never learned your given name.What is it?"

"Lucrezia."

He nodded again and walked off, leaving the Italian to be bewildered at the whole out-of-character experience.She stared after him a moment and then shook her head.She glanced at the computer briefly, and then away.A mental tug drew her back for a second look at the scrolling screen.

Silently, enigmatically almost-she stood up from her chair, and grabbing her jacket left the room. No one particularly noticed but Sally, who gave a curious look after her, but said nothing.

Wufei, meanwhile, had approached Trowa, who had developed a glazed look on his face.It was disturbing to the Dragon, as the look wasn't Trowa's usual mask. There was something wrong inside the youth.He knew it.Nataku told him so.He felt it gnawing at his stomach as he approached the Lion.Clenching his teeth he sough the urge to shudder, wondering if the other had even noticed Wufei's approach.

No, something was wrong.The brunette was frozen.The Dragon stepped within two feet of the taller man, gazing into his eyes.He didn't like what he saw there.Under the solid emerald veins, there was a writhing motion-like snakes and serpents twisting around in his soul.It made the tan-faced youth ill, dizzy, so many ugly feelings.He wasn't certain what to make of it.

Reaching forward, he grabbed the taller youth's shoulders, gripping with talon-like hands: "Trowa!TROWA!"

The Lion snapped under the force and the whole body seemed for a second to drop, then he came back to himself, foot darting forward to catch himself in his fall.Green eyes darted around, frightened.He seemed like one who had just escaped from a trance.Emeralds met onyx as the world came back into focus around the slight youth.

"Wufei?" he said softly, curiously.He had only spoke the Dragon's name like that once before-however, that was history, a closed book.

Wufei stared into the emeralds again, while Trowa looked at him bewildered now.The snake-like undulations beneath the green were fast fading now that the youth had regained consciousness.However, there was a glimmer of them still in the corners-when he didn't stare too long.

Trowa was worried by the raven haired youth's silence.He had the strangest, repulsed expression on his face.The brows were raised, not out of disdain, but a sentiment of fear."What's wrong, Wufei?"

The youth started back."Your eyes.What the Hell is the matter with you!"

The force of the Dragon's shout made Trowa lean backwards, near jumping off his feet.He had no idea of what Wufei was talking about-unless he knew …Trowa shuddered.How could Wufei know about his dreams?How could he know about what over took him just a few seconds ago?

"Wufei, I don't know what yo-"

"You lie.I saw your eyes-your eyes Trowa!The Hell nothing's the matter.You've let something in, something evil.Nataku tells me so!Its tearing apart your soul-what have you DONE?"The Dragon's voice was half angry, half fearful.The fear passed to Trowa.

He knew./Nataku told me so./He felt the twisted inside him, the tearing- /Its tearing apart your soul./

"Wha-what are you talking about?"

"Demons, Trowa.I saw them in your eyes.Squirmy, twisting things-they're taking over you.Did you sell your soul for revenge!"

"I-"Trowa paused, stuttered.He didn't know.Sell his soul-no.The squirming "demons" as Wufei called them, they had been with him long before that.They were his nightmares-dreams Quatre hadn't even known about, but he feared spied in his features.

Wufei had found them in his eyes.Demons-he didn't believe in demons.He didn't believe in anything. 

/Then why do you hope to see Quatre again/ a voice chided him.He shuddered.The Dragon was right.There was something /evil/ inside him.Nataku didn't lie.He recalled all the times Quatre sent him to a doctor-and the M.D. had sent him away with no diagnosis.Was it possible?

"Answer me, Trowa!" he hissed, clenching his shoulders.

"Wufei-no.But-"he paused again.Was it spiritual things that had turned him to revenge?Would Quatre want him killing those who had killed him?No, was the answer, but somehow Trowa couldn't let them go unpunished.It would only cause more pain and suffering in the end.

"Dreams, Wufei.These things have been haunting me-since my mercenary days.My nightmares only get worse.I feel so helpless, so hopeless.I'm delirious-I see them now when I'm awake.When my eyes aren't quite focused, I see them- I /feel/ them.I thought I was crazy."

He put a hand through his brown hair, pushing it all away from his eyes for brief moment.They were frightened- the emotion had finally broke through the mask.The Dragon's discovery was all too surreal-wasn't he just crazy?Weren't they just dreams?He looked at the youth before him for an answer- looking very much like a child who insisted there was a monster under the bed.

"You're afraid?You should be.If you have no soul, even Death isn't a happy prospect-and you'd sure as Hell better make it to Death.I know Quatre's waiting for you.He loved you too much-he loved the whole planet too much."

The hands on Trowa's shoulders grew slack and released him.The Chinese youth felt suddenly exhausted, as though he had just waged a war with Trowa's demons himself.HE shivered involuntarily.What the Hell was going on with this world?

**April 12th A.C. 197::11:45**

** **

The red-headed Mariemaia flitted about Lady Une's apartment impatiently.Une wasn't back yet and she had a favor to ask. Pacing up and down the berber carpeted hall, she listened for any sign of the door to open.Twenty minutes passed and there was no clinking of keys to be heard.

She sighed, blinking.Why was Lady always late?She never came home on time.Mariemaia always had to put food in the microwave and eat it-that was just about disgusting.She wished that for once, her brown haired protector would return on time.

On an impulsive move she jumped up and the couch and began bouncing enthusiastically.Ever since she had regained her ability to walk, she used it on every possible occasion-expecting herself to waste away if she didn't practice.Now she was quite athletic, having regained enough of her muscle content to play with the other kids.Not that they ever invited her to play.

Of course, that brought her back to her urgency.She hadn't seen or heard from Gavin in a week.At first she thought he was sick, but when the teacher couldn't or wouldn't tell her what was wrong she began to get really worried.Her guess was it had something to do with Dead People and Quatre, but the boy wasn't there to answer the question.

She gritted her teeth, frustrated.She wished he would talk to her more.If he'd talk, maybe she could help, but most of the time he just clamped his pale mouth shut and wouldn't talk at all.She guessed he didn't want to trouble her, but the problem was that she was nosey and quite frankly wanted to be troubled.

Face it; she was worried sick about her only friend.

The vid phone rang loudly, and she practically dived off the couch for it, landing on the desk in a superman position.She pressed the button while still in that position, giving Lady Une a very interesting view of her charge as she appeared on the screen.

"How charming, May.What are you doing?"

The redhead giggled."You gonna say hello?"

"Hello."The brunette smiled, painted lips arching gracefully."You aren't straining yourself are you?"

Mariemaia kicked her feet in the air. "Nope."

"Good.I'm going to be home late tonight."

"You're already late," the little girl pointed out bluntly.

"You got me."

Blue eyes sparkled with amusement.She had got her, hadn't she?She giggled again, causing Une's smile to broaden.The little girl had such an incredibly cute giggle.It was infectious.

"You want something," the woman stated perceptively.

"Awww.How'd you guess?"

"I have a way of knowing these things.I'm a Preventor.Spit it out-I've gotta go."

"Can I go visit Gavin?"

Lady Une narrowed her brown eyes."Do you have his parent's permission?"

"Yes," she lied fluently.If she had learned one useful thing from Dakim, it was how to lie effectively.Then again, it practically ran in her blood.Lady Une bought it-hook, line, and sinker.

"Alright, but be back by 10, Miss."

"I will," she said sweetly.

"Take care."

"You too, bye bye!"

"Bye."Static filled the screen as the transmission was cut off.Mariemaia grinned to herself like a little devil.

/Great, now I can check on Gavin./

April 12, A.C. 197 :: 13:01 

** **

Noin wandered through the half-empty streets in a kind of fascinated daze-aware of what she had come out to do, but still lost in Wu-fei's words and thoughts about her beloved Zechs.She shook her head pushing the thought away.There were more important things to be done.

Of course, it was curious as to why she'd suddenly left the room where Wufei had accosted the poor, tranced out Trowa.However, her intuition had struck again, and it really had yet to be proved wrong.Even when Zechs had his accident she had warned hi-

No, she couldn't think about that.It would reduce her back to a helpless daze, which was the last thing that anyone-especially the Preventors- needed at this moment.

Her mind flitted again.Why the Hell had all of this started happening anyway?Everything had been going so well after the Mariemaia Uprising-and then this.She mentally gestured- all of this.Sometimes she wondered if the Mars accident hadn't been connected somehow-that some idiot Barton had found out that Zechs was indeed alive.

She sighed.This was rationalizing, not intuition.She was making things up to cover up the truth-or make the truth "feel better."

She watched the people pass by, lost in their own thoughts and emotions and lives./You all have no idea what's going on./ she thought, sadly.These people didn't know that their world could fall apart at any second.

Damn it-was was life, peace, love and everything else good in the Universe so damned fragile./DAMN IT GOD, WHY?/ she mentally screamed.The forced of the thought brought a throbbing to her temples, she lifted her hand to rub them-sorry for accusing, but still resentful to God for letting any of this happen.

/But you're being selfish.You're only thinking about Zechs./

A tear trickled down her cheek as she walked."That's not true," she whispered to herself."Quatre was like the little brother I never had …"

Violet eyes looked to the heavens, looking for an answer.It so seemed that God was deaf-He could no longer hear her cries-her tears.She watched the artificial clouds pass over an artificial sky.Maybe that was it-maybe humans had just killed God or made Him a hermit by their efforts to become as great or greater than He.

At any rate she felt all too alone.

Was this how Heero felt?How any of the pilots had felt?

There was no answer, so she walked on- down the street to the corner coffee shop that she knew she would find.It was a slovenly little place really- a college hangout more than anything.There was a small stage inside the mud-stained windows- paint peeling from the door.It was almost laughable-but Noin was still too depressed to even smile about it.

She opened the door and was greeted by the stare of a few scattered customers.The Preventor jacket confused them, but no one mentioned it.A couple looked interested-as though they were history majors or in training to be Preventors themselves.Shifting her gaze, she sought to ignore the staring eyes, pushing a black hair strand from her pale face.

She glanced over the "menu" written on a chalkboard and grimaced-how many coffee's could a human possibly invent?Wasn't coffee just coffee?She stepped up to the counter, placing her hands on it to wait.The waiter eyed her from under the brim of his hat-he was about college student age, probably a freshman who needed a job, she mused.He seemed shy, the way his hat and hair hid his eyes from view.

"May I help you," he said gruffly.The voice seemed false, like a person with a cold.Noin's gaze intensified and the youth pulled the hat further down his head.

Noin smiled inwardly, the youth was playing an interesting game to say the least.Nonchalantly she leaned over the counter, looking as though she weren't sure what she wanted –which wasn't an entire facade.

"Mmmm, yeah.Do you have any specials or recommendations?"

"Espresso's got a kick to it.You look like you need some energy."

Noin nodded, having know full well she'd order the darn espresso anyways.It was the only coffee she recognized.She eyed the youth again and raised an eyebrow, fingering through her pockets for her wallet.Finding it, she pulled it out.

"I'll have an espresso then, Heero," she said slyly.

The cheeks of the youth began to burn bright red.Heero tilted the cap from his head, revealing stark, frustrated, and angry Prussian eyes.Scowl crossed his features as he realized he'd been found out.He walked form behind the counter, and grabbing her jacket, pulled her outside.

"How the Hell did you find me?" he grumbled."I've been here for months an-"

"You're losing your edge and I was desperate, let's put it that way.We could use your expertise Heero."

"No!I'm not fighting anymore-I know what the Barton Followers are up to and I don't want a part in any of this.I'm trying to have a life for a change.I'm sick of being a soldier- let me be a human."Eyes stared intensely outward, the slight sign of a broken man revealed in intuitive flashes of a little girl and her dog and a little unconscious redhead.

Noin started back, surprised by her won sharpness of perception.However, the Japanese youth's pea for a normal life only brought her to anger.Her face turned a little red-like the dark brown haired young man was just begging for sympathy.Her hand clenched into a fist.

"Heero, you've been through Hell and all of us know it.We've all been through our own personal Hell's at different times, but now is not the time to say 'I can't fight anymore," its cowardly and unlike you.Duo's dealt with you trying to commit suicide, so did Zechs, and I'd guess so did several other people.You have a nasty habit of backing out of things and running away.

"You try to make it seem heroic, but it's a lie.I'm not letting you back out this time.Quatre's dead, Zechs is dead-more idiots would like to turn this world back into your automaton purgatory.Either you can sit here and let it happen or help us out like Destiny's made you do every other time.

"I don't care if you want to be normal-Don't we all.What the Hell is normal anyway?Sitting at home with a good book?Getting high off of some drug some guy in the street sold you?Nothing's normal-there is no normal.You want normal you can turn the whole world into a set of Mobile Dolls and live robotically happy forever.

"Don't even look at me like that.You know its true.You sit back and that little girl and the dog I saw in your eyes-that will happen a thousand more times.How many more times are you going to kill her, Heero?"

No one had ever seen Heero look as fearful as he did in that moment.Every word Noin had said was spoken in a barely tainted truth.She was seething and rightfully so.He stepped back again, wiping his sweaty palms on the apron of his uniform.His emotional control had really snapped in the months following the destruction of Wing 0.The youth was now flooded with things he had felt-stated verbally and in his face by someone who he had been forced to learn to respect.

His eyes were so wide."How did you-you know?"

"I see things, Heero-how do you think I found you.For some reason, ever since Zechs died I've only understood more of my mind's actions.I see through people-not just through things.Its like there was some ability I never tapped into fully, like you and the Zero system."Her face softened, trying to reduce the friction and ice."I'm going to use everything I have left to stop this-end this Barton problem once and for all.I think you should too.Something tells me your ability, my ability, and Quatre's ability-what did he call it?"

"Space Heart-mm, the Soul of Outer Space."

Noin nodded."I think they're connected.I think, if we use this /thing/ we can stop something."She paused, feeling into the dark recesses of her mind."Do you get the feeling that there's more to all of this than the Barton Foundation?"

Heero looked at her, thinking of sleepless nights and strange dreams.He had visions like the ones he used to see in Zero-some of which he had never spoken of.He couldn't shake this /feeling/ from him-and even he didn't know what it was.It made him wish that the Zero were still intact.

"Maybe I'm crazy," said Noin, doubting herself for the first time during the conversation.

Heero grabbed her hand, "No.You're not crazy.There's something.I've never known fear-true fear- in my life.Not the kind that keeps you awake shivering like it's the end of the world.I get that feeling now-its like"

"Everything's off balance."She lowered her eyebrows."We're a couple of strange ducks."

"Everyone I know is strange," stated Heero frankly.He took off his apron and dropped it back on the ground.Without a word he started to walk away.Noin stared after him like he was crazy.He looked back with a cold glare."What are you waiting for-We have to save Relena's peace-again."

**April 12th, A.C. 197 :: 13:13**

** **

It was a long ride on the Monorail from Lady Une's apartment to Gavin's suburban house.Mariemaia had known that from experience-which was often.More than once Une had arrived at the door to drag her home from the place after school.She was lucky that both Gavin's father and Une were patient people.Had the Lady been anywhere near what she used to be, little Mariemaia would be in quite a fix.

But this was not an issue.Lady Une was at work-and had no idea she really wasn't supposed to be here.Standing at the door of the house, she marveled how a home could be so huge.It was understandable with a palace, but this house was just a house.

She shook it off and skipped up the porch steps, knocking on the door.It was swiftly answered by a tall, thin girl of about 14 years.Long curly hair hung to her waist, and pale sea foam eyes gazed out inquisitively at the world.Spying Mariemaia, the girl smiled.

"Hi, girl!" she said amiably, a beautiful smiled filling her delicate features.Mariemaia smiled back, eying the girl who was Gavin's sister Amanda.She was a nice girl really, and looked a lot like her little brother-without the creepiness.Amanda was a girl with one of those bubbly qualities not unlike Mariemaia's-people couldn't help but follow her.She was a born leader.

Amanda gestured for the redhead to enter, shutting the door swiftly behind her.It looked like rain, which wouldn't be a big surprise in April.

"Is Gavin here?" the girl questioned, looking upward with her sparkling blue eyes.Amanda looked down at her and a strange expression passed over her face.

"Umm, he's been locked up in his room for a week.He does that from time to time."She said it worriedly, as a sister should, but there was an air of normalcy about it.Obviously this happened more than the small family would like to admit.

Mariemaia just giggled."Maybe I can get him out," she said.

"I dunno, DAD!"The yell was sharp, which quickly brought "Dad" into the room.

He was tall, quite tall and thin.He had a stock of white curly hair, so one could see where various pieces of Gavin and Amanda's appearance came from.Mariemaia found him a very interesting Dad because his eyes held a similar quality to Gavin's and had the same ability to absorb the gazer.However, they were an icy blue like Mariemaia's own.It was strange that Gavin's dark violet eyes had come from such a pale featured father.

"Hello, Mariemaia.Gavin's locked up in his room again."

"Again?"

"Huh?"He looked confused; as though the fact that Gavin shut himself up was common knowledge."Oh, he shuts himself up and refuses to have anything to do with anyone now and then.I've never been able to get it out of him-he's a sensitive kid.It's been a long time since he's done it though.Maybe over a year or more-I'd been really beginning to think he was getting better."He sighed, like someone who completely understood various reasons for locking oneself in the room.He was incredibly patient, incredibly kind.It put poor Gavin in a very safe position."I wish he'd tell me what's wrong."

Mariemaia knew.Gavin had told her.She wished she could tell them, but Gavin had sworn her to secrecy.He didn't want his family to think he was crazy.She really felt they should know, but there was nothing she could do.

"I wanna try and talk to him," she said finally."Can I try, James?I miss him at school, the bullies are so mean."She left out the simple fact that she had punched one of them.Actually, the gesture had earned her quite a following among the group of suppressed children.However, somehow she knew that no one would approve of that violence.

James noted the look of stubbornness on her face, and worry-similar to Amanda's when she was worried about her baby brother.There was never any fighting a face like that-besides; perhaps the boy was more likely to exit the room for his friend than anyone else.

"Go ahead.Oh, and stop sneaking out of the house to come here."

Mariemaia started, but headed obediently up the stairs.How had he known that she weaseled her way here?She looked back briefly and saw James chuckling at her.Oh well, he never told.

She paused at the door to his room and knocked.There was no answer, though from the way James and Amanda were talking he wasn't likely to answer."Gavin, its me, Mariemaia!"Still no answer.Out of frustration she tried the door, but found it locked.Well, that wasn't any good.

With her hand she dug around in her pocket to find a bobby pin.She smiled, Duo had taught her so many fun tricks when Lady Une wasn't watching.Taking the pin, she carefully placed in it the divot in the knob and twisted until it clicked.Having accomplished this, she tried the door again.

It opened this time and she smiled.She had beat Gavin at his game-or so she thought.She wasn't prepared for what she saw next.

Walking into the room she first spied everything she was familiar with, the window-bare walls and all out plain room.However when she turned to the bed she stepped back alarmed.

On the plain black sheets of the bed lay Gavin's immobile body, as white as death.He was motionless, unbreathing.A sense of horror struck the girl.Was he dead?She didn't know.

Cautiously she stepped forward, not certain what to make of it.With a small pale finger she reached out and touched his hand.The motion was returned with a slight electric shock and she jerked away.

He wasn't dead, what was he?

TBC.


End file.
